#stories of blood in a loving world love in a bloody world

[myownwholewildworld]

THE WAY TO A GREAT WIDE SOMEWHERE

↪ a the mandalorian x beauty & the beast crossover

main masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story. a/n: HAHAHA *manic laugh* HI! this has been a long time coming now. first and foremost, i'll start by saying that this whole brainrot was inspired by this beautiful moodboard by the very talented @almostfoxglove, please go see it because it's the main reason i wrote this fic. i have gone crazy trying to link both worlds so i hope some of you see/understand the easter eggs. feel free to come screech at me if you like it because i have been screaming into the abyss for weeks now. love you all, take care! <3 x warnings/tags (beware spoilers): 18+, mdni. set after the events of S2. grogu is BRIEFLY mentioned. if you're a SW purist, this ain't your fic, my friend. the stockholm syndrome is stockholming. beast!din. a fair bit of smut (you know all the usual warnings). sensory deprivation. kinda dom!din. monster fucking (this is a BATB crossover after all, sorry). death of a secondary character. reader is a blank slate. alternating pov. no use of y/n. italics means it's spoken in mando'a OR it's the beast's pov 👀 THIS IS THE WAY. w/c: ~24.3k. (HAHA SORRY) divider by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end 💖

11 ABY

“Take it with you. Don’t let anyone hav―” your father choked on his last words, a chesty cough wreaking havoc in his damp, bloody lungs. “It’ll take you to where you need to go. Find it. And destroy it,” he muttered as his grey eyes, crowned by bushy, white brows, bore into yours.

In your hands you held the device that had been passed down every generation in your family. It had been commissioned by Tarre Vizsla himself over a thousand years ago when he created the Darksaber ― a Pillio star compass to find not a physical location but his most valuable possession. For almost a millennium, your family had been the guardians of it.

And for as many centuries, your Jedi ancestors had been looking for the Darksaber after they had stolen the star compass from Vizsla. That Jedi blood was far too diluted now, just a remnant of what your family once was since none of you seemed to be Force sensitive. But the mission remained despite the passing of time, not so much the reason behind it.

Since your birth, this was all you knew: the thrill of the chase. Never settling down anywhere, never creating bonds with anyone outside of your tribe. You all were wanderers ― nomads who made home of no world. You knew no other life. It was what it was.

The Jedi star compass fit perfectly on the palm of your hand ― it was circular and slightly bigger than a locket. This one though was different, special even, because it was made of beskar, a metal alloy from Mandalore.

Your fingers caressed the lid, tracing the astromeridian lines with the tips, feeling each groove. Undoing the aurodium clasp, you opened the compass to find a plasma-encased supraluminite lodestone, perfectly centred. The plasma in this specific one, however, was not of a shimmering blue, but a deep, stagnant black. Its magnetism was so strong it buzzed, emitting a low vibrating noise.

You tapped the stone with your thumb, and the vibration pierced through your flesh and bone, travelling up your forearm and dissipating into your body before it reached your chest. You quickly removed your thumb, taken aback by the intensity of it all, eyes slightly widened.

“But father, you heard them. It’s already been destroyed. It’s over,” you whispered, tears trespassing the waterline of your tired eyes.

“They lie. Never trust one of them. Those power-thirsty ra―,” he coughed, pressing the wound that stained his clothing to stop the bleeding. You covered his hand with one of yours, the other still holding the compass. “I know we were close, we had to be. Promise me you’ll keep looking.”

“I promise, father,” you hushed, repressing the sob that threatened to tear your throat.

You laced your hand with his, unbothered by the blood, as you watched his eyes become dull, opaque and dead. His lungs exhaled the last breath while the grip of his hand on yours loosened.

You remained there for a few minutes, pain and grief gnawing at you, knelt by his deathbed, tinkering with the Pillio star compass. With your mother taken from you at childbirth and now your father perishing to an enemy, you had no blood relatives left. You were alone, stripped from the comfort of family.

You still had your tribe, but your connection to them was circumstantial. You grew up in their midst, but always felt like an outsider, a misfit who people felt forced to interact with because you were “the daughter of.”

It didn’t matter anyway.

You might not have known why your family kept on looking for the Darksaber, but now you knew why you had to search for it. It was your father’s last wish and that was enough reason for you.

“We must go,” Ashton’s voice reached your ears, but not your brain.

When you didn’t respond, he slowly approached you, kneeling by your side.

“Hey, I know this is hard, but we are really running out of time,” his firm arm wrapped around your waist to help you stand up.

Your knees trembled like a newborn qartuum but managed to stay upright on the soles of your feet. Taking a deep breath, you nodded.

“We need to leave Nevarro. It’s just a matter of time until our covert is discovered. They’ll come looking for him,” your head tilted in your father’s direction, voice flat and emotionless now. Stretching your back, you put distance between you and Ashton. “You find somewhere safe in the Outer Rim to lay low for a while. I need to see this done once and for all.”

“This what, exactly? You heard the same thing I did. Gideon crushed it. It’s over. We can finally live our own lives, find a home, settle down,” he muttered, a gloved hand looking for yours yet not finding it. He sounded so hopeful.

“I know what we heard. But my father… he thinks― thought it may be a ruse. I have to try, Ash. I can’t just leave this life behind, as if everything I’ve done has meant absolutely nothing,” you replied between gritted teeth, frustrated.

“Don’t waste any more years of your life on a wild goose chase, please. Let’s go back to the others. We can―” his hand finally found yours, lacing your fingers.

You looked down at your intertwined hands. It just felt odd, out of place even. Ashton was nothing more than a brother in arms to you.

You shook your head no, pulling your hand from his, breaking the contact, and looked at him directly in the eyes.

“No, Ash. There’s no “we” here. You do what you must, and so will I, simple as,” you rejected the unspoken offer, seeing the hurt consuming his blue eyes.

“What makes you think you can do this alone? Thousands of people have tried for centuries,” he quickly tried a different tactic, but his reproach unfazed you. “Let me come with you at least.”

“No. Our people need you to lead them into this new lifestyle, Ashton,” you refused, not even giving his proposal a second thought. “And you just made it clear, this is not the life you want, but it’s the one I do. Now go.”

Ashton pressed his lips together in frustration, gobsmacked by your bluntness. He’ll be fine, he’ll recover, you thought to yourself when you saw the pain of your rejection finally dawning on him.

“Have it your way then,” and with that, he left.

The compass weighed heavy on your hand and in your heart. But you couldn’t afford distractions nor being delayed by people. Not this time.

19 ABY

Weeks turned into months. And months into years. Eight, to be exact.

The passage of time was unfaltering, but so was your determination. Despite the many dead ends, the several disappointments and the near misses, you never stopped looking for the Darksaber.

There were days, however, that it all felt like an impossible task, that you truly believed that Moff Gideon had destroyed it. You couldn’t accept it though, not when you had spent eight more years hunting it down. It still had to exist. Right?

It was hard keeping the spirits up with no company to hear you vent your frustration. You had started talking out loud to yourself, your voice bouncing off the metal walls of your spacecraft.

Some days you regretted rejecting Ashton’s offer. The man had been nothing but kind to you, loyal too. You had your suspicions about his true intentions, but you never really saw him as anything more than a friend. You hoped that after all this time, he would have found someone who reciprocated him. Ash was a good man and deserved better than what you could have offered him. What you both wanted were two completely different things, incompatible ― he wanted a quiet life, you had preferred an adventurous one.

Given the same option today, however, you were not so sure of what you would have chosen.

Toying with the star compass, you looked through the windshield of the cockpit. Jumping through hyperspace at the speed of light always put you at ease ― the flashing of light as you passed through it left a rainbow of blue hues. The static noise was so calming, you relaxed into your seat.

Your attention returned to the device on your hand. Opening it again, you eagerly watched the metal semicircle twinkle, reflecting off the colours from the Hydian Way. It had not moved for a while, so you had set the course in the direction it pointed towards.

Unsure of the way it was taking you to, you had learnt to just let it take you where it pleased. Like a bantha following its herd on the vast, arid lands of Tatooine, your life for the past eight years had been reduced to following the hands of the star compass, and nothing else. And now, like every single time before, you would wind up in the middle of the great wide somewhere. Or nowhere.

Even if your eyes hadn’t been lazily transfixed on the lodestone, you could not have missed the louder buzzing it was emitting. You rapidly sat up on your seat, your thumb hovering over the stone while your heart jolted up to your throat. As the humming increased, the black plasma inside swirled and radiated a white, shimmering glow.

Only once had you seen it do something like that before, right before finding out that the Darksaber was supposedly destroyed by Gideon. You thought yourself so close to your objective in a stroke of sheer luck, you all had rushed towards the direction it marked and found absolutely nothing.

With blood drumming in your eardrums and heartrate spiking, you faced the panel of your starfighter and touched a few buttons in a trained dance of movements. Then you pulled a lever, and a sudden jerking motion stopped the spaceship on its tracks, easing out of hyperspace.

Back flattened against the back of your padded seat, you squinted your eyes to see where you were. It took you a good moment to recognise the worlds in front of you. But that couldn’t be, made no sense at all. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at the scope in front of you.

No, you were not mistaken. That was Mandalore and one of its moons, Concordia. The compass was vibrating so loud now, you had to close the lid to contain it. Did a double take on the scope, then back out to space.

You knew the story of what had happened here fifteen years ago ― Mandalore had become uninhabitable after the Night of the Thousand Tears. The Empire had made sure of it by brute force and unfair use of fusion bombs and rays, which reportedly left the surface of the planet crystallised and its atmosphere poisoned. No one who had ventured had ever returned, or so the legend went.

The compass hummed louder, still pressed between your hands, as if compelling you to decide, and to do it now. It couldn’t be that the Darksaber had found its way back to its homeworld. It completely defied common sense, the laws of space itself.

Concordia, on the other hand, was more promising, you thought. The best choice out of the worst possible options. Safest too. Probably.

Setting course towards the moon, the spacecraft slowly trudged forward. A loud sputtering sound coming from the thrusters almost made you jump, quickly followed by the incessant beeping sound of an alarm.

“Thrusters stabilizers compromised. Negative power couplers overheating,” the robotic, monotonous voice advised you.

Then your astromech droid, a yellow trimmed R3-D3 unit, started screeching so loud through your headset, you had to remove them.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, taking complete manual control of the helm.

If the couplers didn’t cool down, you only had minutes until these completely overheated, causing an explosion.

Weighing your options, you let go of an expletive. Mandalore was closer, but you feared that the moment you entered its atmosphere, your starfighter, and you inside it, would combust to death. Concordia was further, which meant the possibility of exploding before reaching it was very high.

You were fucked either way. Both were evils, none the lesser.

“Alor (boss), something has entered the atmosphere,” Nau’ul, his protocol droid, announced in perfect Mando’a, with a metal finger pointing out the window.

Din’s brows knitted together, not that anyone could see with his helmet on. His attention drifted to the direction Nau’ul was indicating. The wrinkles between his eyes pronounced as his head tilted.

A small spaceship had breached the atmosphere of Mand’alor, appearing through the greyish clouds with a burning tail following it as it rapidly plummeted towards the surface, leaving a smoky halo behind.

With muscles tensed, Din got up from the chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to catch a better glimpse of the type of aircraft that dared to break his peace.

It couldn’t be the New Republic, and he hoped to hell it wasn’t an Imperial ship either. Everyone thought Mand’alor was a thing of the past, a barren planet harbouring no life.

He had thought so too before finding himself adrift in space, injured within inches of his own death. Crippled as he was, his Razor Crest survived the bumpy ride and even bumpier landing, all thanks to the droids aboard. The same droids that had managed to nurse him back to health. Or, close to, anyway.

Through the visor of his damaged helmet, Din eagerly saw the spaceship disappear between the dense foliage and slab stones, nearby the Mines. He waited and hoped to see a column of dense smoke towering above the vegetation, but that vision never materialised. There had been no crash, at least not a major one. Which meant that, whoever was commandeering the ship, had probably survived.

“Fuck. Where’s Mrs. Kri’gee?” he turned around to face Nau’ul.

The protocol droid lifted his arms above his head, running towards the door, panicking.

“Mrs. Kri’gee! Mrs. Kri’gee! Where are you? You’re urgently needed! Report immediately!” the high pitch tone of his robotic voice almost pierced his eardrum.

Din stuck a gloved fingertip in his ear canal and wiggled it to ease the pressure building up in there. Nau’ul was too dramatic and too loud for being a mere droid.

He had not even turned the corner into the main hallway of his decrepit abode, that Mrs. Kri’gee appeared in front of them. Nau’ul got the jumpscare of his life, one of his hands landing on the metal breast piece where a heart should be had he been truly human.

“Mrs. Kri’gee reporting, jatne vod (sir),” replied the IG-series assassin droid, one of her hands flying to her temple to salute him. “How can I be of service?”

“We seem to have visitors. Follow me, gedet’ye (please),” and with no further ado, Din walked almost blindly through the maze of corridors, then down the lift, until the cold breeze greeted him.

The temperature outside was almost freezing, especially in winter. This winter was chillier than usual too, so Din and his droids only came out when it was strictly necessary. Even after all this time, it still surprised him how glacial it was out there. With not even a tiny patch of skin uncovered, Din could still feel the biting cold clinging onto his beskar armour, seeping in through the smallest nook it could find. It could clutch around the bones easily, freezing you in place in a matter of minutes.

Not that he could tell the difference anyway, considering how fucking cold he felt under his skin. How icy it was inside of him, a never-ending snowstorm waging war on his numb heart.

Perhaps he shouldn’t hurry ― if he slowed down enough, and with a bit of luck, the unwanted guests might perish to the unforgiving cold of wintery Mand’alor.

With Mrs. Kri’gee on his heels, Din moved through the terrain as if he was one with it. After many years, he knew the topography as if it was the palm of his hand. Where he could step and where he couldn’t. What paths to avoid at specific times, and which ones were safe to hike, always mindful of the creatures who had withstood the Great Purge.

He might not have many things, but free time was definitely one of them, which allowed him to explore this world he had called home for the last eight years. There weren’t many pastimes in Mand’alor when he was the only human inhabiting it. Maybe that was why he had renamed the droids with more human-like names, to feel less lonely ― only if he could truly feel something.

The emptiness within him had only grown with every passing year on the planet. The curse that ran through his veins had slowly overtaken him, leaving an ever-growing void in his chest. Din could not remember the last time he felt anything ― joy, contempt, happiness, anger, hope, despair. Nothing.

He was an empty carcass, a non-sentient monster merely existing. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was, not because of an emotional response but because of pure boredom. But then his eyes would fall on the source of his misfortune, a brutal reminder of how he came to be where he stood, and the lingering questions would vanish. This was the way, his way.

And if that wasn’t enough, he also had to deal with the other side of the coin.

Din trudged along the faded path, now overridden by vegetation, to the Mines. His magnetised boots helped him find his footing more than once, sharp and loose rocks making it difficult to remain vertical. Mrs. Kri’gee, on the other hand, had no issues whatsoever.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached their destination near the Mines, close to a cliff. The lush bushes and thick trees blocked the sight at first, but Din found the perfect spot to stalk the unwelcomed visitors. Down on his knees and through a gap between the leaves, he made out the shape of a T-65B X-wing starfighter ― a pretty old one, at least twenty years old. It could have well served during the Galactic Civil War.

The starfighter could only carry the pilot and an astromech droid, which meant he only had to deal with one sentient being. Could have been worse, Din thought. The prospect of being found didn’t sit well with him though, unsure of why this person had found themselves stranded in Mand’alor, out of all the fucking planets in the Outer Rim.

The Mandalorian tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the person on the other side of the ship ― they were sat on a flat rock with their back towards him, knees propped up, elbows placed on them and crouched forwards. Din stuck his head out just enough to look over their shoulder, good eye squinting ― there was an astromech droid lying in front of them. By the looks of it, it had been fried to death, still sparkling and smoking a little.

Mrs. Kri’gee laid low behind him, still but ready to accept a command. Din waved a couple of signs to the IG-series assassin droid, and it moved silently, gracefully as a loth-cat, to reposition itself northwards, facing the target.

The Mandalorian kept his fist closed, indicating Mrs. Kri’gee to wait, when he saw the person standing up, removing their helmet and taking in a deep, exaggerated breath. It was the side profile of a woman in a bright orange spacesuit, human as far as he could tell. Din’s eyebrows furrowed under the visor, confused as to what could possibly have guided her to this inhospitable planet.

Perhaps he had been alone for too long, only the droids keeping him company for almost a decade, but the sight of you unsettled him. Had he been able to feel something, he was sure an uncomfortable weight would have grounded his stomach.

Kaysh cuyi mesh’la (she is beautiful), he thought ― a simple, objective observation a man could make with only half a vision.

Your hair shined even when the sky was gloomy; your big, bright eyes sparked with frustration; your plump lips fell into a flat line before smacking them with disapproval at your wasted andromech droid. Your fingers curled into your hips while one of your feet tapped the crystallised ground underneath nervously.

“Well, I’m not dead yet, so I guess the air is breathable,” you talked to yourself out loud, sounding almost disappointed. “Stinks like a swamp though, ugh.”

That was a good observation from your part. Stupid, but good. What was your plan if it wasn’t? Suffocating to death? Bit reckless if you asked him. And yes, the sulfuric smell coming off a bog nearby was not great, but there were worse places in Mand’alor to find yourself in. He knew damn well.

He eyed you for a little longer, Mrs. Kri’gee lying in wait. He didn’t need to kill you yet, first he needed to find out why you were here and if you were part of a larger group ― if there was a remote possibility of someone looking for you, he had to know.

Din signalled to Mrs. Kri’gee to come out of hiding but to not attack yet. And so she did promptly. The droid walked out in front of you, startling you so bad you almost fell backwards.

“Identify yourself,” his droid asked you.

You snorted, hand slowly moving backwards towards the blaster pistol in your holster.

“You identify yourself, you little piece of― metal,” you bit your tongue back.

“Nicknamed Mrs. Kri’gee by my Alor. IG-11 assassin droid. Serial Number 730X21G. Manufactured by Holowan Mechanicals in 1 ABY. First assigned to―”

“Alright, alright. Whatever,” you scoffed, fingers curling around the grip of your gun. “What is a droid like you doing here anyway?”

While you were distracted chatting to Mrs. Kri’gee, Din had come out of his hiding place, heavy boulder on hand. Stealthy as a predator, he raised his arm above your head and smashed the rock against your skull with no hesitation at all.

You plummeted to the ground instantly, rendered unconscious in a split second. Towering above you, Din walked around your body and crouched down in front of you. His gloved fingers moved a few strands of silky hair out of the way, following the tiny stream of blood dripping down your temple. The wound wasn’t too bad ― he was sure you’d survive the blow.

“Pick her up,” he commanded the droid, who willingly complied.

In a matter of seconds, Mrs. Kri’gee was carrying you over the shoulder, as if you were a light sack full of gloomroots.

What a banging headache. You were barely able to string two thoughts together.

Eyelids heavy, you did your best to open your eyes. It took you a couple of attempts, but you finally got there. Vision still burry, your pupils widened to adapt to the darkness surrounding you.

The room you were in was all rough, square edges. It reminded you od the inside of a spacecraft with all those panels on the walls. Here though, the cables were hanging out of the electrical panels, snapped and peeled. The scarce futuristic, metal furniture dotted around was broken and upside down everywhere ― the whole space was derelict, abandoned.

It has to be, because this is Mandalore, you suddenly remembered where you were before you lost consciousness. And how did you faint, anyway? How did you get here? Was it the freaking droid?

With a pitiful groan, you tried to reach the back of your head, where the pain was radiating from. To your dismay, your hand didn’t budge one inch. Confused, you looked down and around you, only to find a sturdy syntherope tethering you to the chair you were sitting on.

“What the varp!” You exclaimed, fighting the fetters to no avail.

You rubbed your hands together in the hopes to loosen the grip and slide one hand out, but whoever bound you, had tightened the rope really well. Did that stop you though? No, not one bit. You tried and tried and tried until the skin on your wrists was raw.

You were in the middle of attempting to break free when the creaking noise of the door made you still in place, half hoping to see the assassin droid.

Instead, a Mandalorian walked into the room, and you immediately ceased your endeavours. With a droid you could deal, but with a sentient being… and even worse, a Mandalorian out of all the fucking possibilities.

By the shape of his armour and predatory gait, you could tell he was a man, around five feet twelve. He wore a black body stocking covered by different metal pieces ― vambraces, shoulder pauldrons, breastplate, thigh and shin guards, and kneepads were all made of unaltered beskar. The shiny patina indicated that the alloy had been polished but not painted, as most Mandalorians would have them.

But what struck you as odd was his helmet. Manufactured with the same polished beskar, a black visor protecting his eyesight, you noticed the big crack that ran diagonally from the bottom left, all the way to his right temple. The transparisteel of the visor had also been damaged. It all had been welded back together, albeit by a novice hand.

You stiffened your back as he approached without exchanging one word. Your gaze followed his every movement, wary of the man in front of you. Your tribe instilled on all its members a gut-churning hatred for Mandalorians, although such strong feeling never really deepened within you.

Always mouthing your curiosity, your constant questions as a child were never well received by your tutors. Even your father had a hard time convincing you to hate someone irrationally. It just wasn’t in your nature to hate for the sake of it.

However, the Mandalorian in front of you… well, that was a slightly different story. The bastard had kidnapped you and had the guts to stop in front of you, arms folded, and head tilted. As if you just happened to be there, disturbing his peace.

“Release me now,” you demanded, narrowing your eyes as you leaned forward on your chair. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

A stony silence ensued, leaving you wondering if he was mute.

“Why are you here?” His voice was distorted by the speech scrambler integrated in his helmet.

Repressing a taunting jeer, you stared him right in his eyes ― where you assumed they were, anyway. When he didn’t respond, your eyebrows scowled.

“Are you, like, for real, man?” You couldn’t hide your incredulity. “It’s obvious I don’t want to be here. I didn’t mean to land on this forsaken planet. For all I knew I was about to die, I thought it was uninhabitable! I actually meant to go to Condordia―”

“Why would you go to Concordia? You’re not Mandalorian. Obviously,” he interrupted you, his hand waving up and down in front of you almost scornfully, pointing out your plain clothing.

“I― Well, that’s none of your business, actually. Look― Sorry, what’s your name? I didn’t catch it before you kidnapped me,” you asked with a pinch of rancour tarnishing your voice.

“I haven’t kidnapped you,” he quickly replied defensively. “Just Mando.”

“Okay, Just Mando. Look, you let me go and we both can pretend none of this ever happened. I go on my merry way and you― well, you stay here, doing whatever it is you do,” coming to think of it, you also had questions. You cocked your head, “What are you doing here anyway? When did Mandalore’s atmosphere become breathable again? I thought the planet was completely ruined after the Great Purge.”

“For considering yourself a hostage, you sure ask too many questions. And it’s none of your business, actually,” he snapped back throwing your own words at you with a snarky edge to his voice. “You and the whole universe think Mand’alor is unliveable, and it will remain like that for as long as I live, at least,” his tone turned sombre. “You ain’t going anywhere, I’m afraid.”

His last words shocked you. What did he mean you were not going anywhere? Of course you were. You couldn’t stay here; you had a mission to complete. And Just Mando didn’t seem to be the best company either, the man was so dispassionate you were sure he had a pole up his ass.

“Wait, wait, hold on one varping second. Let’s not rush into making stupid decisions, shall we? I get it, you want to be left alone for all eternity, don’t want anyone to disturb you. I won’t tell a soul you’re here, I give you my word,” you stumbled over your words, panicking at the perspective of not leaving this planet. “Please, I can’t― There are people looking for me,” you lied.

You had not been in touch with your tribe for weeks now. And by tribe, you meant Ash. He was the only one you had been communicating with over the last eight years. Life had been hectic, and you were never the best at keeping in touch.

“Then I’ll kill them if they come looking,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly.

“Wow, okay. Calm down. No need to threaten my people,” you tried to diffuse the situation, although Just Mando seemed pretty calm.

“And just so you know, I’ve just come back from where you landed. I’ve destroyed your engine and the navigation console, so you ain’t going nowhere,” he unfolded his arms, lacing his gloved fingers on his back, quite the measured gesture.

You glanced up at him incredulous, mouth agape while your lungs emptied. You were stranded here, forever, with him. The magnitude of his words had still not dawned on you, when a faster thought made its way through to the surface.

The star compass. Had he found it? Had he destroyed it too? Not that it would be useful here, but it was the last memento you had of your late father. Not that you could ask, anyway.

“Why… why would you do that?” Your trembling voice almost gave way to desperation as you leaned back against the chair.

You blinked fast to tame your feelings, all bravado leaving your body soft and boneless. For once you were speechless, your eyes searching for his under the damaged visor. But you only saw your reflection on the transparisteel, his pose not budging at all.

“Please, Mando. Tell me you’re lying. Tell me my X-wing was not the only way out of this forlorn planet?” You begged, a dense knot forming in your throat, collapsing your airway.

“It is. It was,” he corrected himself. “I can’t let you leave. I don’t trust you nor your word. This way, I make sure you have no other option than staying here for as long as you live. Death is the only way out of here.”

You deflated on the chair, looking at him in disbelief, almost unable to breathe. Although his voice was warped by the modulator, there was no emotion in it. He spoke as if talking about the damn weather, not like he had just clipped your wings forever ― literally.

“I― What… Why are you behaving like a fucking monster? Don’t you have feelings?” There was no edge to your question, you were past subtleties now.

He shrugged again, unbothered.

“‘Cause I am. And I don’t,” was his cryptic answer before turning on his heels and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The door slammed behind him a bit too forcefully for his liking ― a reminder that he would need to ask Ca’nara to grease the hinges. Din then put the latch down to ensure the door could not be opened from the inside.

Without another thought in his mind, he turned around and almost crashed into Nau’ul.

“Master?” asked the protocol droid, dubious, one finger lifted in the air to draw his attention.

“What?” he replied, exasperated. Din just wanted a moment alone ― that conversation had burnt the last energy he had reserved for socialising. If it wasn’t because he could harbour no feelings, one could say he was socially drained already.

“Since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to offer her a more comfortable room…” Nau’ul suggested.

The damn droid was more human than he was. Din had not even thought about moving you a different place within his derelict fortress. He had made the once royal prison his home, suspended off the ceiling of Sundari’s bio-dome, or what remained of it. A suitable place for a worthy character like him.

Din just stared at him, weighing his words. Did he have to care about the needs of his captive? She’s not my captive, just a… lifelong visitor, he quickly corrected himself.

“Then again, maybe not,” Nau’ul quickly retracted, dropping his hand to one side, mistaking his silence.

Fuck, I should have thought that, not the droid, he almost reprimanded himself. After so many years in his self-imposed exile, Din had really lost all touch with his humanity. Solitude, along with the curse that plagued his veins, were to blame.

With a grunt, he turned on his heels, unbolted the door and walked right back in, coming to a halt behind you with just a few strides.

“What are you doing?” you asked in a small voice, sniffling.

You had been crying and were now trying to hide it, show him you were unbreakable. He should have felt like a dick but didn’t. Couldn’t, really.

He knelt behind you and removed his vibro-knife from one of his pockets. The blade hummed, vibrating, when it got activated and Din cut you loose, restoring the blood flow to your hands.

“I’ll show you to your room,” was his only explanation to your question.

“My room? But I thought…” the doubt in your words slightly angered him. A fleeting feeling.

Anger? That’s new, he thought, eyebrows momentarily furrowing under the helmet.

“You wanna― you wanna stay here?” he muttered, teeth almost gritting.

“No,” you hushed, wide eyes looking up at him when he walked around the chair to face you.

Unsettling.

“Then follow me.”

Turning on his heels, Din made his way to the door, hoping you would follow. And you did, possibly because you had nowhere else to go.

The royal prison was a cross-shaped structure with several floors. Most of it was completely abandoned, except for the last two levels where he had accommodated himself in this senseless life he lived. The height gave him vantage point, with a good view of the surrounding buildings and further afield.

If it was for him, he would live between wreckage and filth, but his droids had made it their purpose to make the prison somewhat liveable. Not that he cared.

Din looked over his shoulder for one second to see you rub your wrists, eyes focused on the floor. Red lines were imprinted on your skin and for a brief second, he wondered if he had secured the syntherope a bit too tight.

Oh well.

He walked you all the way through a maze of corridors until you reached an elevator which was already waiting to take you up. Din stepped in and then to a side ― it wasn’t too big, but there was enough room for the both of you without having to invade each other’s personal space. You reluctantly followed.

The minutes dragged; the silence heavy although he did not find it unbearable. By the way you fidgeted with your fingers, he knew you did. Despite your discomfort, Mando did not open his mouth ― better getting used to it now, he didn’t want you to think he was the talkative type.

Then a ding announced your arrival to the top floor, and you almost let go of a relieved sigh. Din glanced at you sideways but didn’t catch much of your expression ― you were on his righthand side, and his right eye was completely blind.

The floor was well illuminated, clean and free of debris. It was well looked after, pristine almost. The corridors were empty, giving the whole place a very diaphanous appearance. As you walked by his side, he pointed out a few rooms you might want to make use of.

Arriving at an intersection, Din took the east corridor, ignoring the opposite one deliberately.

“What’s on that corridor?” you asked curiously.

You were too damn perceptive. Too perceptive for your own good.

“The west wing is forbidden,” he grunted abruptly, a growl even, stopping in his tracks to face you. “Forbidden,” he repeated slowly so the words, and the threat in his modulated voice, would sink in.

His reaction took you aback, but he could see you subduing your fear. You would not let him see it ― how scared you really were. You might not want to show it, but he could sense it.

The thought of you sniffing around the west corridor should make him panic, but his reaction was a mechanical one ― once upon a time, he would have cared excessively, worryingly even, if you discovered what he was hiding. Now, however, it wasn’t that he didn’t care but couldn’t.

The reason behind it, the reason why his emotions had become sterile and why a beast lurked beneath his skin, was stashed away in the west wing.

And it was his life mission to prevent anyone from finding it.

When Just Mando opened the door to your new cell, you were pleasantly surprised to discover it was an actual bedroom. The walls were still polished stainless steel slabs, so it wasn’t the coziest place ever, but it had a double bed with fresh linen, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a chest and one single chair. Everything was immaculate white, not one speck of dust in sight. There was another door that you assumed would lead to an ensuite bathroom.

You entered the small room and walked towards the bed. Opened the drawers of the furniture not really hoping for anything, so your eyebrows furrowed when you discovered they were packed full with clothes. Weird, but good.

With a little jump you sat down on the bed, testing its springs and overall comfortability. It was strikingly soft and smooth like a cloud, beckoning you to lie flat on your back and drift away to your dreams. You were not expecting that ― seeing how the rest of this floor was decorated (it wasn’t), you thought there would be one single spartan bed which would be hard as ironstone.

You were even amazed to see a floor-to-ceiling window. An actual, big, massive window that faced the outside world. And there were no metal bars covering it. Incredible, really, that he would trust you with one. Not that you were planning to escape, considering how desolate the planet was ― where could you go? Nowhere.

Looking up, you saw Just Mando leaning against the doorframe, arms folded while his biceps flexed against the fabric of his body stocking. He had been watching you the whole time you were inspecting the room.

Suddenly you felt the weight of his eyes on you and that made you feel skittish. You couldn’t see them, but you knew his sight would be intense, drilling and thrilling. What did he look like under that helmet? Would his expression be as impassible as his tone? Did he really not care at all or was that a façade he could afford because you couldn’t dissect his face?

“So… can I come out of my room? Or are you going to lock it too?” you asked tentatively, hands laced on your lap, challenging him with the soft curve of your raised eyebrow.

“It’ll stay locked until I know you can be trusted with freedom,” he straightened his back, hand on the doorknob.

“You call this freedom? Wow, okay,” you paused, letting that spoken thought sink in. “Is it because I asked about that corridor?”

Just Mando stilled under the doorframe, head cocked. Unknowingly, you bit your bottom lip, your teeth massaging the plump pillow underneath.

He didn’t answer.

You had had enough years of silence, the quietness of your cockpit being your only companion. Only broken by the fleeting moments when you met civilisation, you had unintentionally craved that connection. You just hadn’t realised it until you were faced with the possibility of being accompanied by someone for the rest of your life.

Even if that someone was… well, him. Guessed you would have to make do.

“You’ve already condemned me to live here with you, Just Mando, for-fucking-ever. You’ve destroyed my ship, so it’s not like I can go anywhere, can I?” you pleaded with him. “This whole planet is already my personal jail, don’t make it even smaller or I’ll go crazy.”

In your begging, you had gotten up and cut the distance between you. The tips of your shoes bumped into his weathered, leathered boots. He didn’t move, not even one inch ― completely unbothered by your proximity. Your face was so close to his helmet, the steam of your breath almost fogged up the transparisteel of the visor.

And, for a second, he seemed to consider your petition. Or so you had liked to think. You measured each other up, no one giving in or up.

“Until you can be trusted,” Just Mando remarked. The Mandalorian was the first to finally retreat, taking a step back into the hallway. “It’s up to you how long that takes.”

Flabbergasted, you looked at him in disbelief.

And then he shut the door. The click of the lock quickly followed.

Hours had gone by until you heard the door unbolt.

A different droid, an astromech one, greeted you.

“Beep boop, beep!” it happily chirped.

Luckily you knew enough Binary to unsderstand that it said, “dinner is served”.

“I don’t get it. I’ve already had dinner. Don’t need to be here,” Din complained, arms crossed at chest level, manspreading on a chair in the dining room.

“Try to be understanding, sir. The girl has lost her freedom,” Mrs. Kri’gee almost reprimanded him.

“Least you could do is keep her some company, Alor,” Nau’ul chipped in.

Din scoffed, irritated. And such irritation surprised him. He shouldn’t feel anything but a void in his entrails.

Nau’ul picked up on his unusual display of feelings as quick as he did.

“Master… Have you thought that perhaps this girl could help you break the spell?” the protocol droid ventured, almost stammering towards the end when Din snapped his head back to look at him.

If looks could kill, Nau’ul would have dropped dead.

“Fucking nonsense. You heard the witch, the spell she cast,” Din muttered, jaw so clenched it almost hurt him. “Stop looking for solutions and just accept it. After eight years, you should have already giving up your futile hopes.”

“Someone has to keep the spirits up around here. Depressing enough as it is,” the droid retorted.

“If you allow me, Master, Elsbeth’s exact words were, ‘until you find your maker once more’, and that is up to interpretation,” Mrs. Kri’gee added.

Din remembered very well the cursed that Morgan had spitted in his face before he took possession of the Darksaber and sunk it in the witch’s belly.

I condemn you, Din Djarin, to an eternity of loss, Of emptiness, apathy and thorns. At full moons you will be at your worst, With nobody to keep you warm. You shall walk this Galaxy alone, Until you meet your Maker once more.

They still resonated inside his head, clear as the pale ale in the jug in front of him.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow. You’ve been ignoring it for years, but I fear that if you do nothing about it, well…” Nau’ul voiced his worries, hands twisting ― a very human-like gesticulation.

Mando had spaced out, not listening to one word. He only snapped out of his trance when the door creaked, announcing Ca’nara’s and your arrival.

The bags under your eyes were screaming for some rest, which apparently had been evading you. He had given you enough hours alone to get some sleep and freshen up, so why hadn’t you? If you looked so miserable, that was entirely down to you, not him. Of that much he was sure.

Din straightened his back, sitting up properly, while Nau’ul rushed off his feet to serve you the food the droid had prepared. With a flourish of his hand, he presented you with his creation.

“It’s tiingilar, a Mandalorian stew of meat, vegetables and spices. It’s hot, very hot, be careful,” the protocol droid warned you.

From across the table, Din could have sworn he saw your eyes watering, then you blinked a few times, grabbing the spoon.

“Oh my stars, how many spices have you put in here?”

“Oh, you don’t like spicy food?”

“Well, I do, but it smells so spicy, I’m about to cry, phew!” you swept along your waterlines with your index fingers, making a point.

“Alor prefers it this way. I can prepare something else…”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll eat it. Thank you…?” You dragged your words, looking for a name.

“Nau’ul,” he replied. “Anything you need, please ask.”

And then all three droids disappeared from sight, leaving you both alone in the dining room.

You glanced up from your plate, eyeing him above your spoon while you blew on it to cool it down.

“Are you not eating, Just Mando?” you raised an eyebrow, inquiring.

If Nau’ul was still in the room, Din would have snarled at him. Instead, he folded arms again and shook his head no.

“I’ve already eaten,” he explained dully.

He couldn’t―wouldn’t―remove his helmet in your presence, or anyone’s. Not even his droids had seen his face in all the years they had been together. Din had been raised to follow the Mandalorian Creed and even though he was no longer part of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, he still believed. It was intrinsic to him, to who he was. Or had been. The only thing that kept him true to himself.

“Because you can’t remove your helmet in front of me. Right?”

Din tilted his head in surprise. He did not expect you to know that. Were you acquainted with the Mandalorian culture? And if so, why? You were not one, he could tell. But what were you? Your accent was a mixture of different ones, so he could not pinpoint where you originated from.

“This is the Way,” he found himself saying. It had been a long time since those words last escaped his mouth. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, from here and there, everywhere and nowhere…” Then you took the first spoonful of the stew and started coughing almost instantly. “Fuck, this is spicy,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, as your hand lunged forward to eagerly down the drink.

Din almost smiled at your severe reaction. The corners of his lips began to curl up but quickly dissipated, his own body fighting against such act of rebellion.

“So you’re a nomad?” He asked with certain curiosity in his voice, while he leaned forward to pass you the jug full of ale to top up your drink.

“Yes. I don’t have a homeworld. I don’t even know where I was born, we moved around so much my father didn’t even remember,” you went on almost absentmindedly, pouring the beer in your glass. “What about you, Just Mando?”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘Just Mando’? It’s just Mando,” as soon as he said it out loud, he understood the joke. He pressed his lips together, slightly amused. “I see,” he mumbled.

You laughed as if it was the best joke ever. The warmth in your laughter was vivid, hearty, compelling. Like a melody it filled the air ― suddenly the room was not as bare as before. As cold either.

“So? Were you born here in Mandalore, Mando?” the smirk coiling your lips told him you were teasing him.

Din debated whether to open up or not. Whether to tell you the truth or a lie. But Nau’ul was right, if you were to spend the rest of your lives together, lying was not a good start.

“I was born in Aq Vetina, but was raised in Concordia,” was his succinct answer.

Your eyes unsuccessfully searched for his under the visor. Din could tell you wanted to press him, get more information out of him, but that was as much as he was willing to share today.

“Eat up. It’s going to get cold,” he urged you, wanting to leave so he could be alone.

“So bossy,” you whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes to the back of your head, before attacking the tiingilar.

Nine weeks later

You turned to the next page of the book on your lap, your mind completely captivated by the story of the pages in front of you. Books were scarce in this day and age, but Mando had managed to salvage a few after years of rummaging through the rubble. This one in particular was a storybook for children ― a story about a Mandalorian fighting the Mythosaur down in the Mines.

You were immersed in it, curled up in your bed with a thick duvet and a few pillows around you. Your room was not bare anymore ― you had decorated with a few trinkets you had found in your day trips to the outside world, with Mando as your guide. The fear of the first week had slowly eased, giving way to a new sense of comfort.

Forgotten was your thirst for freedom. With the passage of time, you learnt that Mando was not joking when he first said death was the only way out. And since you didn’t want to die, you slowly had embraced this new way of life. You had made friends with the three droids and had really tried to form sort of friendship with Mando.

The Mandalorian was a tough nut to crack. He was not keen on showing emotion, so much so you even wondered if he was capable of feeling anything. You had noticed that, many a times, he relied on Nau’ul to show him how he should act or react. A droid teaching a human how to be human ― unfathomable. Perhaps all these years alone in Mandalore had taken its toll on him.

And so you liked to think that you were somewhat helping him reconnect with that side of him you thought long gone. By ‘helped’, maybe you meant ‘forced’, but Mando had thrown you in this situation, so now he had to put up with you.

The door to your room opened suddenly, startling you so bad you almost threw the book at Mando.

“One of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack. Don’t you know how to knock?” You screeched, hugging the storybook to your chest and burying yourself under the duvet ― you were only wearing a shirt and your underwear.

“Are you not ready yet?” you had grown used to the exasperation in his voice.

“Ready for what? It’s only half seven in the morning, Mando!”

“You wanted to visit the Living Waters in the Mines and see for yourself if it really is a Mythosaur’s lair, remember? Since you don’t believe a damn word of what I say,” he scowled, still under the doorframe.

“Oh, shit! You’re right!”

How could you have forgotten? You had been insisting for over two weeks now, and only yesterday did he capitulate. You were no Mandalorian, so shouldn’t be in such a sacred place, but you managed to convince him that it would do literally no harm to anyone if you visited.

In your excitement, you jumped out of bed, forgetting you were half naked, and looked for some clothes to put on.

“I’ll… I’ll be waiting in the parlour,” he muttered and disappeared into the hallway.

Ten minutes later, you were outside, on your way to the Civic Center. As you approached this new-to-you, unprobed area, the destruction around you made your stomach churn. The Great Purge and then years of neglect painted a gruesome picture in front of you. Inside was even worse, although you couldn’t see much considering how dark it was.

You followed Mando diligently ― he had been here before, so you trusted his instinct. You stepped where he did and remained silent while you descended into the ground.

After a few more minutes, a humid, warm cave appeared in sight. There were massive pillars holding the crumbling ceiling, and piles of debris everywhere. Stairs led a path to the Living Waters below.

“This is beautiful,” you mumbled in awe, looking around you.

The place was eerie and silent as a tomb. Seeing it with your own eyes, now you could understand why people would believe in the existence of a mythological creature.

There was a plaque on a stone nearby and you got closer to read it. However, the writing was in Mando’a, so you cocked your head to look at Mando.

“What does it say?”

He walked towards you and stopped right behind you. His proximity sent a warning shiver down your spine. You ignored your body’s reaction, focusing on the words you didn’t understand.

“These Mines date back to the Age of the First Mand’Alor. According to ancient folklore, the Mines were once a Mythosaur lair. Mandalore the Great is said to have tamed the mythical beast. It is from these legends that the skull signet was adopted and became the symbol of our planet,” he relayed, his voice ricocheting between the bare walls.

“And you are sure you’ve seen it? Mandalore the Great lived, what, hundreds of years ago? In all that time, you’re telling me, you’ve been the only man to witness the rise of the beast?” One perfect eyebrow raised into your forehead, a smirk curling up your lips, as you taunted him.

Although you couldn’t see, you liked to imagine the frustration distorting his features. Lately you had wondered who the man under the helmet was, but you knew you would never find out. Mando took the Creed very seriously, too seriously.

“I did,” he replied concisely. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

“And what were you doing in the water anyway? It does not look very inviting.”

“I had to redeem myself,” you could tell he hadn’t mean to tell you that, because he nervously adjusted his posture.

“Why?”

You were like a loth-wolf with a bone ― you wouldn’t let it go that easily.

“I had broken the Creed and had to atone for it,” his voice lowered, uncomfortable with the topic.

“How did you break it?”

“Will you ever stop asking so many damn questions?” he growled, evading your probing.

You lifted your hands up in the air in a peaceful gesture, but not without a subtle grin on your mouth. You loved driving him crazy, it was one of the little fun you could have in this place.

“Alright, alright.”

You bent down to grab some flat stones off the ground and practiced your stone skipping skills. That was until Mando’s big hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you mid-throw.

“Stop that, you’re going to awaken the beast,” he snarled, pushing you close to his chest a bit too forcefully.

“Oh, come on. Gimme a break, Mando. There’s no Mythosaur, you must have imagined it.”

“There is and I didn’t,” his grip loosened, and you took the opportunity to throw another stone. “Fucking quit that attitude now,” he warned you, grabbing you by both of your wrists, your hands flush against the beskar breastplate.

Your pelvis was sweetly pressed against his, your thighs touching his. Even with the beskar pieces, you could feel all his edges, his― Shit. His manhood resting just above where slick heat was gathering in your core.

You laughed to release your own tension ― your head snapping back, exposing your neck to his eyes.

“Oh, wow. You’re serious,” you managed to say between laughs, ignoring how close you were to him. Ignoring how wet your pussy was.

“Of course I am. You don’t unders―”

The sound of water abruptly moving forced both of you to look in the direction of the pond. Something enormous had risen, taking up the whole airspace, and water cascaded down its sides.

You froze in place, your mind rushing to come to terms with what you were seeing, as you looked at the gigantic figure towering above you. The water kept falling, so you couldn’t really make the shape of the monster underneath. But in that moment, you knew Mando had not imagined jack shit. The Mythosaur was real. Very real.

Mando pushed you back and put himself between you and the imminent danger. Above his shoulder, you saw horns sticking out and a big pair of eyes staring you down. Its skin was covered in scales and small horns, giving it a very reptilian appearance. The Mythosaur was massive beyond comprehension, and you could not, for the life of you, visualise it being tamed or, worse, ridden.

Time stilled and so did the beast. Its eyes were transfixed on you ― no, on Mando. As if they were measuring each other up, as if they were communicating somehow. Since that was impossible, it was obvious you were imagining things.

Before any of you could react, your heart pounding manically and your breath hitching, the beast went back down below the water level, and a massive wave dashed towards you. Within a matter of seconds, the Mythosaur was gone, and you and Mando were soaked to the bones.

Mando reacted before you did, turning around and forcing you to walk back.

“Let’s go, now! Move!”

In the safety of your bed, after a hot, steamy shower, you let your mind drift back to the moment in time where Mando had held you close to his chest earlier that day. How your body had unwillingly behaved to his closeness, how you ached for him to reach below your hips, right between your thighs…

With a soft moan, you gave in to the desire that had been pooling low in your belly for a while now. Your fingers dipped under your underwear, finding that sweet bundle of nerves in your wet slit. Your index tapped at your clit a few times until you stroked it ― electricity shooting up your spine.

That felt so good, you did it again and again and again, while your brain came up with different scenarios where Mando was giving you hell. With half-lidded eyes and lips parted, you smothered the beating nub with your thumb, two other fingers finding the entrance to your pussy and submerging in your wet heat.

You picked up a relentless pace, imagining they were Mando’s thick fingers, as the first orgasm in a long while started to build up inside you. Your own hand made you whimper, teeth sinking in your bottom lip so hard you almost drew blood. Your back arched involuntarily, stroking your pulsing clit more harshly now, your fingers reaching further in.

The squealing noise of the door opening alarmed you, your orgasm evaporating into thin air. You just about managed to remove your tantalising hand from your panties and throw the duvet above you. Panicking, you looked at the door.

Mando was under the frame, so still you thought he was a statue. You had tried to conceal what you were doing, but the rigidity of his posture told you he had seen enough.

Your cheeks reddened, your face on fire at the realisation of being caught masturbating. By none other than the protagonist of your wet dreams.

“Mando! I told you to fucking KNOCK!” You screamed at him from under the quilt. “You can’t just walk in like that!”

When you didn’t hear the door close ―because you were not expecting an apology from him―, you peeked above the duvet.

The Mandalorian had not moved one inch, and you really feared he had become immobile forever. But the tent on his groin showing through his body stocking told you otherwise.

And then he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. It was the first time he had trespassed the doorframe, you noticed. Butterflies filled your stomach and your lungs as he approached the bed you were lying on, your widened eyes looking for his unsuccessfully ― always unsuccessfully.

Mando didn’t say one word as he removed his gloves, coming to a halt by your side with his shins pressing against the bedframe. When they dropped to the floor, your eyes drifted right up at him, searching for clues, anything that could be crossing his mind.

His naked fingers were the first time you saw his skin, a bit of him. He was real, and he was right in front of you, caressing your cheek. You found yourself closing your eyes and leaning on the palm of his hand ― a tender gesture amidst your unresolved sexual desire.

Mando tilted his head, and you understood. An unspoken petition that you willingly granted. Driven by your lust, you scooted over to the other side of the bed, making room for him, dragging the duvet with you.

“Nuh-uh,” he clicked his tongue as he knelt on the mattress after having kicked his boots.

He yanked the duvet off you, exposing you to him with just your shirt and underwear.

You leaned back against the mountain of pillows and looked at him doe-eyed ― then your sight followed his right hand as it landed on your pubic bone. You pressed your lips into a fine line, swallowing a moan at his touch. His fingertips traced your wet slit over your panties.

“What were you doing, hm?” he husked, his long finger dragging against the garment.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unable to look for the words.

“Were you touching yourself?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded.

“Were you close?” a sliver of care transpired through his modulated voice.

“Yes,” you cooed.

“Sorry, mesh’la (beautiful). Let me help you with that,” he offered at the same time his fingers dunked under the waistband of your panties.

You melted into the mattress, audibly moaning, when he stroked you. Your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure his fingers were expertly working on you, sliding through your slit a few times, from your thudding clit to your dripping hole ― your clit hitching between his fingers every time he traced them back up.

He worked your flesh with his bare digits, and after a few minutes, his index and middle fingers went back down to your hot entrance. He tempted you with the tips but didn’t go in ― you were tiptoeing on the precipice of your pleasure.

You whimpered, annoyed.

“Please, Mando―”

“Din. Call me Din, mesh’la,” he hummed, the tip of his finger circling your entrance.

“Please, Din,” you blurted out, eyes flying open and transfixed on his visor, begging.

You let go of a pitiful groan when Din―you liked how his name rolled off your tongue―finally gave you what you wanted, what you needed. Two of his thick fingers dove in your seeping pussy, slightly parting your walls in preparation―hopefully, if you were lucky―for his dick.

First slow, then a devilish rhythm his fingers imparted on you. The orgasm quickly built up again, Din’s dexterity beckoning you to climb to the hilltop. And you did, you let yourself feel all the pleasure he was giving you until it was too much, your clit raw and overstimulated by his precise thumb. You reached the top of the mountain and jumped into the abyss underneath. The wave of your climax washed over your, drowning you ― your cunt spasming around his fingers while your knees pressed together.

When you opened your eyes again, all tearful due to immensity of your frenzy, you were relieved to find that Din had released his throbbing erection through the zipper in his body stocking―you didn’t have the patience right now to unclasp all the armour pieces, you needed him now.

The sight of his engorged dick made your mouth water. The girth and the length of it should have made you flinch, but instead it made your pussy wet itself a bit more. It had the perfect size to fill your insides to the brim. Din’s hand moved up and down on his shaft, slowly pumping himself although he was already hard.

You lifted your hand towards his manhood, and he removed his to let you touch him ― for a second you were fascinated by the soft swaying of his cock. Then you wrapped your fingers around it and Mando grumbled, sitting on his heels, manspread for you as a tasty offering. He was a sight to see ― knelt and sat on his heels on the mattress, fully clothed, helmet on, armour hugging his body, and his erection peeking out through the zipper, leaky and throbbing just for you.

Giving him a few pumps, you looked up at him with a smirk. And before he could complain or stop you, you came closer to him and gave the plump head a lick, then sealed your lips around his leaking glans.

The groan that bubbled up his throat spurred you on to bob your head down, taking half of his pulsing length in your mouth.

Din’s hand tugged at your hair abruptly, pulling you off his twitching dick.

You glanced up at him confused.

“I can’t―I don’t think I can take a blowjob without blowing my load, mesh’la. I need to fuck you now,” he was honest with you.

It was understandable. He had been stuck here for at least eight years, which meant that he had not laid with a woman for at least as long. You would have lost your mind too if someone hadn’t touched you in that time.

“Come on then, fuck me, Din,” you mumbled, laying back down on the pile of pillows so your upper body was propped up.

You spread your legs, making room for him. Din swiftly shifted, dragging himself into position.

It was a fucking sight; one you had been dying to see. And he was finally there, all cozy in between your thighs. He parted your legs, resting the back of your knees on his shoulders. He pushed your panties to a side, leaving you completely exposed.

You couldn’t see, but you knew his eyes were focused on the prize―your damp, puffy folds, clit twitching and hole begging.

“Been wanting some pussy for a while now,” he confessed in a grumble, head tilted back when the tip of his veiny cock slipped up and down your damp furrow.

“Here I am, take what you need.”

How altruistic of you.

His mushroom, precum-covered head caught on your slick entrance and Din bucked his hips a little, only the tip smoothly going in. Your heartrate spiked, your walls imploring for the full length of him to clench on. And then, Din thrusted in harshly, pushing his cock in down to the hilt in one smooth jolt. You both howled in unison at the intrusion ― his a deep, guttural moan, yours a high-pitched one.

Mando held onto your knees on his shoulders as he started with the slow sway of his hips impacting on the back of your thighs, building the perfect pace. His dick dragged along the right spot inside you as he jackhammered you into the pillows, another orgasm gathering in your core. Din’s rhythm became frantic, frenzied, to the point where he had to let go of your knees and lean forward, his hands holding onto the rattling headboard.

Mando fucked you hard, drilling you like a man starved. You could feel him stuffing you full, his hard dick disappearing between your swollen, greedy pussy lips. Reaching up, you held onto his arms above you, fingers wrapping around his elbows. Your body rocked up and down on the bed below him with the force of his unrestrained charges.

Your cunt couldn’t take it anymore ― it contracted around his girth, announcing your second climax, which quickly overtook your senses. With stars in your vision, you wailed his name, now fisting the bedsheets as you came, a never-ending wave making your twitch under him uncontrollably.

“Fuck, I… Fuck,” he growled, his hips bucking and stuttering erratically at the sight of your fucked-out expression.

He was close, you knew by the way his dick constantly pulsed inside you ― he just needed a bit of prodding. That was your signal to clench your walls around him, squeezing him as hard and snug as you could, clamping on his thudding cock, never wanting to let him go.

That was his undoing ― you felt Din’s warm, thick spend painting your inner walls, his steely cock convulsing with the last waves of his release.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Din between your legs, his dick still buried inside you as it softened. The inside of his visor was fogged up and you doubted he could see much.

“I didn’t mean to come inside, I was gonna pull out―”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. He didn’t need to worry about that.

His helmet tilted, but whatever question lingered in his mind, he didn’t ask.

His thumb lightly pressed your relaxed clit with gratitude, massaging it softly, before he pulled out and your pussy released his shaft. That gentle stroke ignited your nerve endings, slowly coming back to life. His thumb then went down, gathering the cum your pussy was releasing, and shoved it back inside you.

You bit your bottom lip to stop a needy moan.

“Wanna go again?” you asked, grinning. Offering.

Din laughed. He fucking laughed. You had never heard him laugh before.

“Sure do, but I need a minute, mesh’la.”

Every night for the next two weeks Din found himself stranded in the corridor leading to your room, like a lost, thirsty man looking for water in the harsh desert of Tatooine.

The internal struggle was always the same ― he shouldn’t seek you because, after all, you were his prisoner. You were stuck here with him because he had forced you to, giving you no other choice. Sure, he had not imposed his presence on you―quite the opposite, in fact―but it still seemed wrong to take advantage of you like that.

But then he would see you come out of your room, almost as if you knew he was marooned there, and would approach him with caution. Willingly you would take his hand and lead him to your nest, erasing any doubts he could have about your eagerness. You were as keen as he was ― fucking had become an entertaining pastime. And a calming balm for the beast within.

It was the same dance every night, without failure. And tonight had been no different, except for the hushed “I want you so badly, Din” that had dropped from your parted lips as you rode the last wave of your orgasm, a blissful expression softening your features.

As he stood outside of your door, back towards it, Din wondered what you had truly meant. Was it just a benign slip of tongue or was there something else behind it? He hoped for the first, because he couldn’t afford the second.

Feeling something―anything―was out of the question. Even if he wanted to, didn’t matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t. Elsbeth had cursed him to an eternity of apathy, and it had worked ― over the curse of the last eight years, Din’s feelings had dimmed, diminished and then disappeared, while his inner monster became more powerful, feeding off his emotions like a leech sucking blood out of its host. Mando had tried to feel to keep the beast at bay ― would even make the droids try to anger him in silly competitions, but the dull sense in his chest just grew bigger and bigger, like a tumour rotting his entrails.

Din couldn’t remember what happiness felt like ― he had a barren wasteland for a heart. So cold were his insides, he even thought all his organs were covered in beskar. That was what brought him back to your room every night ― your warmth, how it would seep through the cracks of his skin, warming up a part of him that he thought dead.

Tonight, he had allowed himself to really feel your body against his ― helmet still on of course, you both had been stripped naked for the first time, your skin rubbing his, heating him up. Whether he would admit it or not, he craved you. Yearned for your warmth.

With a shake of his head, his feet finally unglued from your doorstep and sauntered towards the west wing. A single light at the end of the corridor twinkled, snuffing out the moment he stepped below it.

He swung the door open to a room he had not visited in a very long while. Din preferred to pay no mind to the source of his emotional detachment, but Nau’ul’s words had been nagging him for weeks now, an annoying reminder scratching the back of his brain.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow.”

He had to see for himself.

The room should have been dark if it wasn’t for the light the Darksaber’s blade emitted. Din trudged towards the display stand in the middle of the empty space, where the Darksaber rested under a glass case. Two metal, U-shaped pins held the Darksaber upright.

An electrifying, white glow encased the black blade, but it was certainly fainter than what he remembered. Significantly fainter. It had taken him a few years to understand that the Darksaber was the vessel of his curse ― as his feelings dwindled and the beast grew fonder of control, so did the light of the Darksaber. He was not sure though about which one caused the other to wither away.

As he stared at it, Din pondered what would happen the day the light from the Darksaber would flicker away. Morgan had died before he could fully understand the idiosyncrasies of his malediction. At first, the frustration of the unknown had only driven him mad, especially when the full moons would bloom on the night sky, leaving him at the mercy of his curse.

The first time he had transformed, bathed by the white light of Concordia, Din thought he was dying. The burning sensation, the bones breaking and fusing back together, the stretch of his skin, the blood becoming cold in his veins and his mind spiralling out of control… He hadn’t died, but he sure wished he did. Only at dawn was he able to gain back control, so exhausted he just laid on the dirt near the Civic Center for an entire day before finding his way back to the royal prison.

Only with the insight of time did he decide it did not matter. The end was the end, and if that was the way, then he would greet it.

Din sighed, his eyes dry under the helmet. Looking around and knowing himself on his own, he carefully removed his helmet, wincing in agony, and placed it on top of the glass case. He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose in an attempt to clear his mind, one hand resting on the glass.

Eyes shut for a long minute, he ended up fluttering them open. His reflection greeted him ― a terrible, gruesome sight, a face he almost didn’t recognise anymore. The scar that ran from the left of his chin diagonally to his right temple had distorted his features ― his chin slightly dented, the left corner of his mouth raggedy, the flesh on his upper left cheek mildly sunken around the scar, his crooked nose even more angular and his split eyebrow giving him a permanent frown. And then his right eye, completely blinded with a white discolouration covering his iris and pupil.

He could still feel the blade of the Darksaber melting his beskar helmet as Morgan pressed it against him. It hadn’t completely cut through the Mandalorian alloy, but the fire filtering through had burnt his skin, leaving an everlasting imprint on his face.

Din remembered the heat, the panic building up and the sizzling sound of his skin as it thawed like ice under the sun. The smell of burnt skill still haunted him sometimes when the helmet became too overwhelming.

The damaged tissue was thick but extremely sensitive ― every time he pulled the helmet off his head, the fabric inside would drag against the scar tissue, making him flinch in pain.

Shaking his head to release his mind from such memories, Din stared at the Darksaber for longer than intended, lost in his train of thought. For the first time in ages, he wanted to know if the curse could ever be broken.

Until you meet your Maker once more.

That had a pretty definite sentence to it. Death was the only way out.

“I didn’t see you last night,” you mumbled, repressing the need to add an ‘again’ to the end of your sentence.

You had noticed that there were certain nights when Mando would vanish, wouldn’t visit you at all. You wouldn’t see him in the morning either and if you asked any of the droids, they were as evasive as their master.

You still didn’t know why and every time you prodded him about it, his answer was…

“Had stuff to take care of.”

You sighed, pressing your lips into a thin line. The idea of slapping him had its appeal.

“Are we still going?” you quickly changed subject, not wanting to be disappointed with him today. “I’ve not really asked you for anything in the three months I’ve been here.”

You watched his gloved fingers drum on the metallic surface, helmet tipped to one side as he considered your words. You wanted to believe that in the time you both had spent together, Din’s undaunted façade had softened a bit. His replies had become less snappy, his posture slightly more relaxed, and his hands way more caring as they canvassed your skin every night.

An invisible force had been towing you towards him, his gravitational pull irresistible. Din Djarin was a challenge to you, a puzzle you had started putting together. He strived so hard to remain indifferent, it was now an exciting game to make him feel. The only downfall? You were falling for him. Perhaps him being the only man to walk this planet had something to do with it, you had no other options. Also, you knew that fucking the brains out of each other every night would eventually lead you here.

Considering that you had a lifetime to spend on this world, letting yourself feel for Mando was something you could afford. And even if he didn’t want to show it, you were positively sure he was not as apathetic towards you as he let on.

“Alright. I don’t see the harm,” he accepted.

You mumbled a “yes!” with a smile crooking your lips as you pushed the chair back to stand up.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

You rushed out of the room to run to yours and change. The winter was receding, but the cold was still bitter and nippy, so you decided to put on appropriate gear. A few minutes later, you darted towards the lift, where Din was already waiting.

Couldn’t help yourself, you had to smile at him, the softness of your grin reaching your eyes.

Din cleared his throat, face facing forwards to avoid your orbs meeting his.

The way down in the elevator was soundless, but you had grown used to his silence treatment. The short journey to the crashing site was as tranquil as the trip down the lift. Mando was truly a man of few words.

When you caught a glimpse of your T-65B X-wing starfighter, you overtook Din and ran towards it in excitement.

“Careful there! The ground is slippery, you’re gonna―”

Before Mando could finish his warning, you recreated what his next words were going to be: you slipped on an icesheet. Waving your arms so you wouldn’t lose your footing, you ended up falling face first. You managed to partially stop the fall with your hands. The rocks underneath slashed your winter trousers, cutting your left shin.

By the time Din had gotten to your side, you had already stood up.

“You okay?” he asked with worry in his voice.

You nodded, smirking at the preoccupation he was showing.

“Yeah,” you lied. If he knew you had hurt yourself, you would be turning around and returning home empty-handed.

“Be more careful, will you? The ship ain’t going nowhere,” he snarled once he knew you were fine.

You rolled your eyes at him before strolling to the aircraft. Your old X-wing had seen better days ― the glass of the cockpit was smashed; vegetation had grown over the body. Moss covered most of it, painting it green instead of white. When you peeked inside the cabin, you realised it was flooded, all electrics wet. It was truly done for ― if you ever had any hope of leaving this planet, it would not be aboard your X-wing.

Din stood watch as you foraged for the item you were here for. After a few minutes, you located the star compass under the seat in the cockpit, drenched. Looking over your shoulder to see where Mando was, you opened the compass and water leaked everywhere. The black lodestone was static, unmoving ― maybe it just needed to dry off. Despite how damaged it was, you hoped it would still work. You were not planning on using it, obviously, but it was a reminder of your old life, one that now seemed very far away.

You couldn’t say you missed your previous life. The constant travelling had taken a toll on you in the last few years, having almost lost sight of searching for the Darksaber. Now that your feet were back down on the ground, gravity keeping you centred, this new life was not so bad after all.

“You found it?”

“Yeah!”

You quickly clasped the lid back down and jumped out of the cockpit. Perhaps you had lied to Din about what you were really looking for, but something in you told you not to tell the truth. So, when he asked you that morning why you wanted to go back to the shipwreck, you simply lied, telling him you were looking for your family’s locket ― a relic that had been passed down for generations.

The object was small enough to pass for one. You waved it at him quickly, not really showing it to him, before you shoved it in one of the pockets in your vest. Luckily Din didn’t ask for it, otherwise he would have realised it was made of beskar.

“Let’s go back then.”

“You’re bleeding,” Din’s fingers grabbed you by the elbow, yanking you back before you crossed the door to your room.

You looked down, having forgotten about the wound on your leg. You shrugged, downplaying it.

“It’s nothing, I’ll just take care of it now.”

“Like hell you are,” he growled with clenched teeth while dragging you inside.

He only let go of your elbow when you were by your unmade bed. Din stopped right in front of you, hands on hips. He nodded to you, commanding you to remove your trousers so he could see.

Your eyes rolled in frustration and clicked your tongue.

“It’s fine, Din. Don’t worry about it,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“I’ll decide if I have to worry or not.”

And, without prompt, he pulled down your trousers in a swift movement, leaving your legs bare. You huffed but let him help you out of them and remove your boots. Mando signalled you to sit on your bed and so you did. Din knelt in front of you, grabbing your hurt leg by the ankle until your heel was resting on his bent knee.

He inspected the wound for a minute after having removed his gloves. His fingertips burnt your skin where they ghosted over it.

“It’s not too deep, just a scratch.”

“I told you it was nothing. You have some unresolved trust issues, Din,” you joked, slightly leaning back with the heels of your hands flat on the mattress.

You couldn’t see but knew his eyes squinted under the visor.

“I’ll go get something to clean it. Wait here.”

Mando walked out and you took the chance to remove the uncomfortable coat. A minute later, he had returned with a clean rag and a small container with lukewarm water. He knelt in front of you again, grabbing your leg, and dutifully cleaned the wound.

You couldn’t help but sigh at the feathery touch of his fingers on the back of your knee. His proximity was enough to lighten your need for him. Also, being only in your underwear and a shirt while he was knelt between your legs did not help at all. Your imagination was already running wild ― and so your legs parted slightly, almost involuntarily.

Din’s attention shifted from the wound to your core. He tried to hide he was being distracted, but the helmet kept tilting to one side so he could have a better look at where your thighs met.

You chewed on your bottom lip, slick warmth pooling in between your legs.

“Din,” you hushed his name, your hand searching his so he would stop cleaning the wound.

The Mandalorian didn’t need much prodding after that. He towered above you rising to his feet, his hips at your eye level. You knew he was hard already, so couldn’t ignore the call of the siren.

With rigid steps, he walked towards the chest and placed the container dow. He scrunched the rag so the water dripped back into it. Soon enough, he was in front of you again, clean rag on hand.

“Do you trust me, mesh’la?” his modulated voice was low and husky.

You nodded vehemently.

“I want to try something different this time,” he murmured, the rag twisting in his hands. “But you gotta promise me you’ll behave for me.”

“I will,” you promised, breath hitching in anticipation.

“I’m going to blindfold you and remove my helmet. But I have only two ground rules: you can’t take it off and you can’t touch my face. At all. No excuses. Are we clear?”

A rush of lustful excitement ploughed through your veins. You found yourself nodding again, your neck hurting.

“Use your words, cyar’ika (beloved).”

“Yes. Crystal clear, Din,” you mumbled, widened, almost adoring eyes staring at him. You hadn’t missed the endearment term, although he seemed to not have noticed.

“Good,” he curled one finger at you.

You sat back up, hands laced on your lap patiently waiting as Din blindfolded you with the damp rag. He secured it with a very tight knot on the back and made sure three times that it would not go anywhere.

“If you break your promise, I’ll have to kill you,” the threat was very real, not even a hint of joke in it.

Your mouth went dry and your clit irremediably pulsed ― your pussy was already wet and warm for him. You shouldn’t get off on a death threat, but apparently Din could reduce you to a slick mess just like that.

“I-I won’t remove it. You have my word. Please.”

“Be a good girl for me and lay down on your back,” he commanded you and you happily obliged.

Your heartrate spiked as you heard Din discarding the beskar pieces over his body stocking. Maybe you were too eager, but he was taking too damn long. Then a hissing sound told you his helmet was gone.

This was fucking torture. You wanted to see him, to see the face of the man who made you wet with just a few words. It was cruel of him to impose something like this on you, such a prohibition. However, you understood what his Creed entailed and respected it.

Hated yourself right now for respecting it, but you did.

Din placed his hands on the back of your knees and lifted your legs up, the soles of your feet resting on either side of his naked hips. The warm palms of his hands caressed your ankles, massaging them briefly, before travelling up your calves and inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Unceremoniously, his fingers curled around the hem of your panties and pulled them down your legs; you couldn’t see but were sure he had thrown them away.

The Mandalorian exhaled audibly the moment his hands landed on your knees and pulled your legs apart. You squirmed, knowing he was devouring you with his eyes.

“Din, please, just―” you whimpered, moany and needy, anticipating.

“Shush. Don’t be so impatient, mesh’la,” he chastised you while stepping back.

That was the first time you listened to his real, manly voice. It was deep and raspy, surly yet sweet.

Your feet, no longer supported on his hips, dropped to the ground.

“Go on your fours,” he talked you through the position he wanted you in as you obeyed. “Now lean down, rest that pretty face of yours on the mattress for me.”

With your perky ass up in the air, you felt very exposed with your inner thighs pressed together and framing your swollen pussy like a pretty picture just for him.

One of his fingers traced your wet slit and you had to stop yourself from wiggling your hips until his finger was partially inside you.

“Look at her, all drippy and puffy for me. She knows what’s coming, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s so fucking wet,” he hummed, shuffling behind you.

You couldn’t see him, but you were damn sure he was on his knees at the feet of the bed.

Din placed his hands on your ass cheeks and parted them, the skin in your sticky furrow stretching while his thumbs caressed your labia. Your cunt was on full display, and you could feel the cold air of the room against your damp, sensitive skin.

“At last, I can claim her as mine,” Din whispered, his hot breath fanning on your pussy now, sending shivers up your spine.

You moaned, finally understanding what was coming.

He didn’t keep you waiting. Din’s tongue lapped your whole pussy in one go and your entire body trembled at the wet touch, his beard prickling your skin. Covering your mouth, you swallowed a pitiful whimper while your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Mando’s broad hands squeezed your ass, grounding you, as he leaned forward again to drink from the fountain of your pleasure.

His tongue dipped in your creamy slit and stroked it slowly, deliberately loitering around your clit, but never really paying it much attention. He kissed your swollen lips, making out with them as if they were your mouth, the tip of nose intimately caressing your perineum. With the help of his fingers, he splayed open your quivering cunt, your hole accessible to the apex of his mischievous tongue.

Din licked you for minutes on end, ignoring your pulsing clit on purpose. The tension inside you coiled almost uncomfortably, so intense it would snap at any given moment. His devilish persuasion was relentless, more so when he would introduce his tongue in your very core.

You bucked your hips against his mouth, grinding. Desperate.

“Din, please, please, here,” you begged, slipping one of your hands down your belly and in between your legs.

You parted your slippery pussy lips, your clit hitching between them, showing him exactly where you wanted his goddamn tongue.

“Here, please,” you insisted, teary-eyed, at the edge of your patience.

“So impatient, mesh’la,” he chuckled behind you, still on your fours for him.

Finally, his lips latched onto your clit, and you whined out loud, pure elation running through your veins at the sweet suckling of his mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive nub, and you saw stars behind your eyes, head slightly tilted backwards as you mewled until your throat felt raw.

Din sucked on your clit harshly at the same time two of his thick fingers found their way to your oozing hole. You screamed a resounding “fuck” at the perfect intrusion. The combination of his tongue and his digits were more than what your nervous system could take. Lick, pump, lick, pump ― the perfect rhythm making your toes curl, your pussy clench and your clit set ablaze.

The whole pussy-eating-from-the-back situation was too much ― his fingers ever so tantalising, you surrendered. Rubbing your cunt against his mouth, you moaned his name as the best orgasm of your life almost rendered you unconscious. You came on his mouth while Din just sipped from you, drinking all your discharge as if it was the last drops he would ever taste.

You could only hear your heart beating in your eardrums, all your senses overwhelmed. You were so out, you had almost forgotten the rag blindfolding you.

“You’re gonna come again for me, mesh’la,” only then did you realised his fingers were still inside you.

You panted, gathering your thoughts.

“I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, entranced.

“Oh, you can and you will,” he groaned, accepting the challenge.

And with that, his wicked lips pressed against your cunt, and he started all over again. As it turned out, he was fucking right. His tongue and his fingers were working you so well, there was no way you could resist. However, this time, there weren’t two fingers stuffed in your whole, but four. Your walls were so outstretched it should have been painful, but it wasn’t ― he had made sure to get you ready, pliant under his dutiful care.

“I wonder if you could take him. Bet you could,” Din whispered in a moment of respite.

“Huh?”

All thoughts dispersed when the second climax spread across your entire body, leaving you exhausted; a pitiful, sweaty mess on the bedsheets.

“Turn around and lay down. I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” the crudeness of his words should have made you frown but instead you smiled, completely blissed out.

Din made good on his promise. On your back and with your legs parted, you heard him moving around until he was between your thighs. Then he leaned forward, his hands on either side of your shoulders to keep his weight off you, and his hard shaft dove inside your cunt with no resistance. When he bottomed out, he snapped his hips back and then forth, until he was rutting into you like a man on death row.

Your hands held onto his back, your nails digging in his skin. You wanted to move them up and sink them in his hair so badly, your palms were itchy with longing. He had said you couldn’t touch his face; he hadn’t said anything about his hair. Hoping he wouldn’t notice your intentions, your hands drifted up his back, arriving at the nape of his neck.

So close to burying your hands in his hair, so fucking close…

“Don’t,” he growled at you, the snapping of his hips against yours unforgiving. “The fucking audacity. I. said. don’t. fucking. touch,” he punctuated every word with deep, sharp thrusts.

You winced and gasped at the depth of his dives, your mouth shaping a perfect O, back arched off the mattress below you. Every stab of his dick kissed your cervix, and you just couldn’t stop moaning uncontrollably. The mild pain quickly blossomed into ecstasy; your skin electrified with pleasure.

Suddenly you felt his mouth ghosting over yours; his unfiltered, gruffy grunts were music to your ears. You reached up, wanting to steal a kiss from him to taste his lips for the first time, but he slithered back.

“You don’t respect boundaries, do you?” Din rumbled.

His voice should have had a tinge of anger, but instead it sounded… amused?

“You have had a taste of me, it’s only fair I get something in return, Din,” you bargained breathlessly, but got no reply. “Please?”

Imploring for a measly kiss from your captor while he kept on fucking you. That had to be a new low in your book.

You couldn’t see him as he jackhammered you into the mattress, but knew he was debating. Whatever inner debate he had, the side you were banking on won.

“You keep your hands on my back at all times. Yes?” One of his hands moved to your neck, his dextrous fingers wrapping around your throat. “Or I’ll―”

“Kill me. I know. Elek, Alor (yes, Master),” you whispered in Mando’a, breath hitching.

His mouth came crashing down on yours, teeth colliding in a very messy kiss. His tongue sought yours with fervour and sucked it into his mouth. He tasted like you.

You couldn’t help but moan in midst of the sloppy kiss, your heart finally content at his small yet meaningful surrender. The grip of his hand around your neck softened but didn’t dissolve, adding another layer of excitement to his unabating thrusts.

“Gar serim, cyar’ika (that’s it, beloved). You’re so good, so fucking good for me. Warm, tight pussy always ready for me when I need her. She never disappoints,” he maundered, your brain spiralling with his praise.

Praising your cunt, not actually you, but you would take anything he would give you.

A few minutes later, the breathy groans of your making out along with the squelching sounds of your lust filled the air, quickly followed by the loud moans announcing your climaxes. Your cunt clamped on Din’s dick―a promise you’d never let him go―and he blew his load inside you. The tackiness of his cum filled your insides as his cock pulsed one last time and his lips pecked yours.

Din dropped to your side, panting with exhaustion, and you just laid there pondering all the decisions that had taken you there.

You’d never let him go.

When the fuck did that happen?

“How long does winter last here?”

“A good part of the year, around six months,” he replied dryly.

He was aware of the fact that you had been trying to get words out of him for the past week. Make conversation, talk about his story, his past, his interests. See if there was any common ground between you. But Din couldn’t bring himself up to actually share personal details.

And every time you tried, and he would dodge your attempts, he would see the disappointment painted across your face. And every time, something unknown would uncomfortably stir within him. He suspected you had started to harbour feelings for him ― and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t reciprocate you. Didn’t want to break your heart.

It was his fault, really, for seeking you out every night. You were so giving and him so greedy, he just mindlessly took what you offered without giving you anything in return except for a few orgasms and a good time.

“What did you do last winter? Bet it was boring being home with just the droids…”

Din knew very well what answer you were expecting: It was. Your presence has been a great improvement. You make my days―and nights―more bearable.

But instead, he shrugged.

“Dunno. Kept myself busy with stuff,” he muttered frugally.

He kept on walking before you, making the way back home after a quick stroll around to breathe some cold, fresh air.

The Mandalorian did not expect to be attacked by a snowball, which hit the back of his helmet. He quickly turned around.

“What the hell are you―?”

Before he could finish his question, you hit him again with another snowball, dead centre on his visor.

“You are such a prick, Din Djarin,” you snapped between gritted teeth, patting another snowball between your gloved hands. “Would it actually kill you to be a bit more open, hm?”

This time he saw the attack coming and was able to duck, avoiding the next snowball.

“Are you mad?”

“Yes, I’m mad, you fucking idiot!” you yelled at him, trudging forwards with another snowball on hand. “I’m mad for you, but either you’re fucking blind or you’re a cold-hearted jerk.”

Little did you know he was actually blind in one eye, but it didn’t seem to be the time to point it out.

The sudden love confession caught him off guard. You were not supposed to say that. You were not supposed to feel that way, not for him.

Din remained calm as you cut the distance and tried to smash the fourth snowball on his covered face. His fingers gripped your wrist before you were able to do so.

“You’re just confused, mesh’la. All the sex is blindsiding you, but you really don’t feel anything for me,” he reasoned.

You looked at him as if he had slapped you and took a step back.

“Of course, because you, the freaking Tin Man with a dead heart, know better than myself how I feel. Un-fucking-believable, honestly. Go fuck yourself, Din,” you scoffed, pushed him to one side and walked past him.

Din saw you disappear through the sliding door, while he stood there in disbelief.

What the fuck had just happened?

You kind of expected Din not to show up at your door tonight, but his absence in your bed stung either way. Sure, you had told him to go fuck himself, but now with a new―horny―perspective, you would prefer if he fucked you instead.

Infuriated with him, yourself and the situation, you sat back up on your empty bed. You reached for the drawer in your nightstand and opened it, grabbing the star compass inside. Fidgeting with the aurodium clasp, you wondered why the fuck Din didn’t open up. After three months and a half with him, you had thought you had been able to break through his armour ― the figurative one, not the real one.

Every time you tried to talk about your relationship with him, Din would shut you out or wouldn’t even engage in the conversation at all. He was more stubborn than a falumpaset, and that was saying something. Despite his indifference, you believed that, deep down in that cold, dead heart of his, he cared for you. Maybe he didn’t love you, but at least cared for you.

You didn’t even know if you loved him, anyway. Infatuated was, most probably, more accurate, you’d like to think. Most days you pushed that thought to the remotest corner of your mind, not wanting to consider it. Because, after all, you were his prisoner ― you might forget it some days, but the reality was that Din Djarin was your captor. So maybe it wasn’t love ― perhaps it was just a survival mechanism. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Amid your pondering, you almost didn’t realise that the hands of the compass had moved, and the lodestone was humming, the plasma inside slowly swirling around. Your heart jolted in your ribcage, almost dropping to your stomach, when you finally paid it attention.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping out of bed.

You had hoped it would work once it fully dried, but you were not expecting it to be actually functioning. It seemed to sense the Force emitted by the Darksaber, but that couldn’t be possible. If the Darksaber was here, in Mandalore, Din would know―would have told you. Right?

No, he wouldn’t have.

With that thought in mind, you put on some more decent clothes and cracked open your door. Carefully, you peeked in the corridor to confirm the coast was clear. It was close to midnight, so you hoped everyone―Din and the droids―would have gone to rest.

Tiptoeing through the hallway, you followed the path the star compass was pointing to, only to find yourself in the west wing after a few minutes. You knew you shouldn’t be here, but the compass hummed louder, vibrating on the palm of your hand, as you turned another corner. Looking up from your family’s relic, you saw a door at the end of the hallway.

“BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BOOP! BIP! PIP!” Din’s astromech robot, an old R2-D2 unit, screeched at you loudly, skidding and coming to a halt in front of you. It even had a red light flashing at you.

You almost threw your heart up there and then, the little robot giving you the biggest scare of your life.

“CA’NARA!” you told him off as your heartrate slowed down. “Fucking hell, you almost killed me, little devil.”

“BEEP! PIPIPIPI!” the droid beeped at you, going around you in circles.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, sorry!” you whispered, “I-I’m a sleepwalker!”

Ca’nara seemed to calm down, only for Nau’ul to appear in scene.

Great, fucking great.

“Ca’nara, what’s going on?” the protocol droid turned the corner, almost bumping into you. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

“I- Uhm, I was just telling Ca’nara that I’m a sleepwalker. He literally just woke me up. I didn’t mean― you know I cause no trouble, Nau’ul,” you pleaded with the affable droid.

“Of course, of course,” he took a couple of stiff steps back. “What’s that on your hand?”

Fuck. You looked down, coming up empty with a lie.

“I don’t know. I literally just woke up, I don’t know where I got it from,” you stammered a bit, but the droid didn’t pick up on it.

“I’ll take it. Alor will know what it is and where it belongs,” Nau’ul extended his hand towards you.

If you didn’t give it up, it would arouse suspicion. So, unwillingly, you passed it on to him.

“Where’s he?” the question slipped your tongue before you could refrain.

“Alor is… indisposed, miss. He needs to rest,” he replied cryptically as you both walked back to the main corridor where your bedroom was.

“Indisposed? Is he sick? Is he okay?” you instantly worried.

“He’ll be better in the morning, fret not,” he paused in front of your room, and you opened the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nau’ul,” you mumbled before closing the door behind you.

What a varping disaster. Nau’ul had confiscated your star compass, which meant that Din would eventually see it. If it came to it, you were not sure what you would do. And you still didn’t know what was in that room, why the compass had gone crazy as you approached it. But you had a pretty good idea. Chances were, the Darksaber was on the other side of that door at the end of the west corridor.

Sighing, you sauntered towards the big window in your room. Two perfectly aligned full moons dominated the night sky, their white, sparkly glow bouncing off the walls. It was a beautiful sight.

Something in the path below caught your attention. A metallic reflection. Your eyes drifted down just in time to see Din running towards the Civic Center, as if a thousand ghosts were on his heels.

You frowned, confused. Where was he going at this witchy hour? Wasn’t he sick?

A scary thought formed in your head. Were you under attack? Had Ash come looking for you after several weeks without returning his messages?

Heart pounding with worry, you darted to the door and then the lift. Whatever threat was coming, you would face it with him. With such resolution in mind, you followed his trail.

Your concern for him skyrocketed when you arrived at the Civic Center and saw nothing but pieces of his armour scattered around. You snatched the shin and thigh armour off the steps to the main door, only to look up and find more bits spread around the entryway.

This made no sense at all. Why would Din dispose of his armour? Something was wrong, very wrong, but you were not under attack.

You gathered all the armour pieces in your arms while calling his name but heard nothing except the whistling of wind passing through cracks and crannies.

Suddenly, you felt the need to look down the stairs to the Living Waters. A hunch rooting in your core, wrapping around your heart. Then a faint, painful growl came from underneath and all your senses flared alive.

What was Din doing down there? In the Mythosaur’s lair?

Panic hiked up your throat as you hiked down the stairs, the animalistic snarl louder now as you drew nearer. At the bottom of the steps, eyes fixed on your shoes, you dared to glance up.

His armour fell from your arms on to the ground, clattering. You were not prepared to see what you found.

Din was half curled up on the floor, naked and dragging himself towards the water. Only he was way bigger ― almost seven feet tall, his body much more muscular with chiselled, blueish veins across the whole of him, hands big as paws with his nails digging the dirt underneath.

You took a step forward, catching a better glimpse of him. Then you truly saw ― his skin had a viridescent tint to it and had started to scale. Rugged lumps raised from the skin on his back, tiny bones protruding through. No, not bones ― small horns, like those of a reptile.

Not like a reptile. Like a Mythosaur. Only smaller than the beast you saw a few weeks ago.

With a guttural bellow, he removed his helmet, throwing it to on side as he crawled towards the rippling water. His head was crowned by thick, short, greyish curls ― exactly what you had imagined.

“Din?” you whispered, taking a precautious step towards him, one hand extended in front of you to appease him.

His head snapped around at the sound of your voice.

You gasped at the sight of him. What first struck you was the scar across his face, one that would perfectly line up with the mended crack on his helmet. It ran diagonally through his rugged features, distorting them and hugging that crooked nose. His teeth seemed slightly pointier too. The next thing you noticed were his blown, bloodshot eyes with pupils as big as his sclerae.

Not eyes, one eye ― the right one was completely discoloured, covered in a white sheen.

He still looked like Din, but… not really.

The vision in front of you should have scared you. Even more so when Din stared at you, and you saw nothing in his expression ― he didn’t recognise you. Whoever, or whatever, this was, he wasn’t the man that had kept you company for the last few months.

Logic dictated you should run in the opposite direction. Instead, you propelled forwards towards him, knees skidding on the dirt and landing by his side.

The warm touch of an alien hand grounded him for an ephemeral instant. The bitter cold crawled under his scaled skin, rejecting the heat like a limping animal avoiding the helping hand of a human.

He snarled, creeping back and away from you, as if your mere proximity was a threat to him.

Because it was.

“Din, I’m here, let me help you,” you besought, dragging your knees towards him again.

He didn’t know who Din was. Where he was or had gone. Did he ever exist? The Beast didn’t know―didn’t care. So he growled again, but his futile attempt didn’t keep you at bay. Guessed you had a death wish, only that could explain your blatant refusal to his rejection.

Both your hands fell upon him, like warm blood spilling and enlivening his senses. For once the cold running wild through his veins minimised, giving way to a hot flush that was foreign to him. The sudden warmth surprised him ― but what shocked him the most was how soothing it was, how easy was for him to crave your touch. A primal need.

The Beast had forgotten what warmth was, having been cursed to a lifetime of coldness for as long as he could remember. Crazed by this newfound feeling, he slowly sat back up on the ground, eyeing you like a predator watching his prey.

Your hand reached up to him to cradle his cheek and the Beast closed his eyes, that warm feeling running down his neck, wrapping around his dead yet beating heart.

“You’re so cold,” you mumbled as you cut the distance some more, your chest nudging his side.

Another heatwave flashed through him ― your warmth beckoning, your body too inviting. He wanted to dive in, to let your warmth surround him, make him surrender. He craved it so bad, so fiercely, the Beast bowed down to sink his forked tongue in your mouth ― unannounced, unrequited.

You moaned at the intrusion, your hands lacing on the nape of his neck, and that only spurred him on. He gave in to your warmth and gave up his restraints. Growling, he plundered your mouth as he forced you down onto the ground.

Towering above you, his tongue slipped out of your mouth to graze your neck, and you shivered under him. Biting your chin, he returned to your lips to kiss you, to suck out your warmth to replenish himself. Like a leech he drank from you while his rough, broad hands roamed your body.

“Din,” you mewled.

He didn’t like this Din whose name you were moaning. So he kissed you, not wanting to hear it again and tugged at your clothing. Impatient, he almost tore your garments apart and only relaxed a little when you were completely naked beneath him.

Pressing his bare body against yours, he revelled, soaking in your heat. But there was a part of you that was hotter, and he could sense it ― like a tracking fob, he pursued the warm feeling as he slithered down your frame.

The heat pulsing from between your thighs called him home, hypnotising. You pressed your knees together and he snarled, his sight darting to your glassy, dreamy eyes, silently distraught at your denial.

He leaned down over you to graze one of your nipples, smothering it raw to show you what he could do to you down in your balmy core. His demonstration worked, because the next time he coaxed your legs apart, you showed no resistance.

So down he went on you, fingers splaying out your puffy folds to display the focal point of his desire. Like a thirsty animal his bifid tongue darted out and swept the length of your damp slit in one slow, sweet sweep. He howled into your pussy, besotted, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he devoured your seeping cunt. Warmth poured from your clit, and he latched onto it rather harshly, finally finding the beacon that reeled him in.

“Fuck, that― Mhmm,” whatever you were going to say died in your lips as a moan hitched in your throat and your body trembled.

A rush of liquid fire met his tongue, and he accepted your offering as your thighs quivered around him ― the strength of your release eased slowly, but his tongue didn’t.

His fingers found the warm cave he needed to nestle in. But before he could do that, before his brain got fucked out into oblivion, he had to prepare you to take him. He massaged your leaking entrance one digit at a time until you were sweetly stretched around four of his fingers.

You whimpered with the first pump and slowly you eased into it, into the feeling of being full to the brim. He licked and flicked your throbbing clit, the hot nub driving him wild. Your inner walls tightened, announcing another climax, and he pulled it out of you with his fist still immersed in your pussy.

Once you came down from your high, the Beast unburied from between your thighs and loomed over you. Your half-lidded eyes and fucked-out expression only made him harder, hotter. He hungered for the moment your bodies would connect; the moment he would finally feel only warmth running through his veins. The moment the cold was forgotten, albeit only fleetingly.

The tip of his cock nudged at your pliant entrance, and he trailed the head up and down your dewy furrow a few times. Your eyes blew open the moment he poked at your hole, parting your flesh, and you looked down at his dick kissing the mouth to your cave.

“Din, I don’t think― Oh, holy FUCK,” you mumbled something uncoherent afterwards, head tilted back and your teeth sinking in your bottom lip as your pleading metamorphosed into moaning.

His whole frame blanketed yours as he supported his weight off you by placing his forearms to either side of your head.

Slowly, inch by inch, he buried himself in you, suffocating heat radiating from where you two met. He growled, an animalistic bellow bubbling up his throat as he felt your walls swallowing him, sheathing his throbbing cock. And when he was fully embedded in you, buried almost down to the hilt, you whined as he remained still ― your walls adjusting around him. He was maddened by the warmth of you.

Only when he felt you relax around him, did he start pumping in and out of you. His mind went blank as his sight transfixed on yours and your foreheads touched, another bridge between you. The Beast rutted into you, first paced, then madly, as he stared into your soul. Your body rocked up and down underneath him, your back arched so your nipples caressed the bare skin of his chest.

The movement of water behind him made him look over his shoulder. The Great Mythosaur had resurfaced, only the top of his head and his eyes were above the water table. Watching, ever present and lurking. Eager. Wanting.

He growled at him, a warning to back the fuck down ― he wasn’t sharing you; you were all for himself and himself only. His exclusive prey, no one else’s. With a low rumble, the Great Mythosaur disappeared under the water, and he refocused on you.

Tension built up at the base of his spine, his cock pulsating so hard it was difficult to ignore it any longer. And then your pussy clenched around him as you orgasmed once more, and that inevitably milked him dry ― both of you moaning in unison as ropes of thick, white cum painted your inner walls, leaving a lasting imprint in your core.

The Beast panted above you ― all coldness deserted from his body, destituted by your unique warmth.

He sat back up, his engorged cock leaving your entrails. Through the daze in your eyes, you looked at him with a satisfied grin. As you sat up straight, you lifted one hand towards him, softly placing it on the center of his chest.

“Come back to me, Din,” you begged, and all hell broke loose within him.

The pain, the shearing pain, blinded all his senses as his bones snapped and rearranged again. His jaw clenched to stop the agonising screams hiking up his throat. Din hunkered down as his body adjusted back to normal size.

As grievous as it was, it was over very quickly. Too quickly. He had not fully transformed into the Beast, which meant easing out of it was not as traumatic.

What was traumatic was the sudden landslide of overwhelming feelings taking form inside him. Almost a decade of apathy meant years’ worth of emotions repressed ― emotions that would emerge to the surface if given the opportunity. And whatever you unleashed within him, flooded his brain and his heart.

A myriad of sentiments rushed through him ― joy, anger, hope, disappointment, serenity, desperation. All at once, a cacophony bursting his eardrums. So loud were his emotions, all boiling together inside him, his thoughts were drowned. He couldn’t think ― panic was setting in.

Din panted as his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, lungs vacating all oxygen in sharp exhales. His ears rang and his heart threatened to climb up his throat and run. Eyes closed shut, he grasped for control.

“Din, I’m here,” your hands slid on his back, grabbing him by the shoulders.

A soothing balm taking many of his worries away. Your palms smoothing out his skin felt like an anchor. One he desperately tried to hold onto.

Through the fog of his anxiety, he saw you knelt by his side, hugging him close. Naked as he was, a sweaty patina clinging to your skin. Although Din had not been in possession of his own body, he had been relegated to the background and had been witness to everything that happened. Forced to watch him take you.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I can’t control him, I just―,” he wheezed as he sat back up.

Your soft eyes sparkled, a faint smile curling up your lips. Your fingers snaked through his hair, combing it back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Din,” you hugged him tighter, reassuring, kissing one of his shoulders.

“Are you hurt? Did I― did he…?”

“I’m completely fine. A bit… sensitive and raw. But in a good way,” you added with a faint chuckle.

The comforting caress of your hand rubbing his back and your lips brushing the skin on his shoulder made him believe you.

Even though the look in your eyes had not changed, he could see the questions dancing in your pupils. Questions you were holding back, but that would eventually spurt out.

Your free hand reached for his left cheek, and he almost flinched at the proximity. Your thumb had come too close to the scar, sending a shot of pain down his neck. But he didn’t lean back away from you. Instead, Din stilled under your touch.

“I knew you’d be gorgeous underneath that helmet,” you whispered, your mouth close to his.

Din grunted, taking your compliment as an offense. Why were you mocking him? He knew how he looked ― he didn’t need you making fun of him for it.

And why was he upset? He shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Your tiny fingers wrapped around his wrist when he reached for the helmet nearby. You yanked his forearm until his eyes met yours.

“I wasn’t joking. I mean it, Din. Truly,” you husked, hand again on his cheek and thumb too close for comfort.

He couldn’t see a sliver of jest in your features. You were deadpan serious. And that scared him.

Din looked away, coming to terms with the flaring emotions. Emotions. Even the unspoken word tasted weird on his tongue.

You moved away from him to quickly gather your clothes and put them on. Then returned to his side with his armour and clothing.

“Let’s go back home, Din. You look knackered,” you mumbled, kneeling by his side again.

Din didn’t reject your aid when you helped him get dressed again. Taking the helmet between your hands, he bowed down his head so you could put it on for him.

His body ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt ― all the restructuring his bones had to endure always took a physical toll on him. So much so, he needed your help to stand up ― his legs felt like those of a newborn humbaba.

But today… today it also took an emotional toll on him.

He really was exhausted.

You probably needed time to process what had happened tonight, a whirlwind of questions and doubts battered around in your mind. But you didn’t want to leave Din alone, not when he looked so fatigued, a moment away from breaking.

Walking down the silent corridor beside him, arm draped around his waist, you went past your room. You had never been to his and hoped tonight would be the night where he would let you spend it by his side.

Hand heavy on the handle, you pushed it down and the door swung open. You didn’t know what to expect and, somehow, the bareness of his room did not surprise you at all. The metalwork on the walls had been painted black and the furniture was sparse. A massive bed with black bedsheets dominated the room.

Despite the monochromatic theme, it felt cozy, inviting even. Dragging him towards the bed, you gently pushed him down on to the mattress and knelt in front of him to remove his boots.

“I can do it,” his words slurred.

“I know. But let me do it, please,” you muttered, throwing the shoes to one side.

Din hummed in agreement, so slowly you unfastened all the beskar pieces again. Removed the vest underneath and unzipped his body stocking down the side, helping him out of it.

There was something extremely intimate about undressing him. Not with a deprived end in mind, but a caring one.

I could do this forever. Only if you’d let me, the intrusive thought didn’t startle you. Because it was true.

Last, you placed your hands to either side of his helmet to pull it up. By pure instinct, his hands darted up to yours to stop you from uncovering his face.

“It’s okay, Din,” you reassured him softly.

Din crooned again, arms falling to his sides, surrendering, and you took it off, leaving it on the nightstand.

You could truly get used to this; you’d never tire of looking at him. His rugged features, although distorted by the nasty scar, were pleasant. His soft, brown and white eyes, the aquiline nose, the moustache blending in with the beard, the strong jaw. You only saw beauty, no beast.

Mando let himself fall backwards and you stood there by the side of the bed, unsure of what to do with yourself.

He decided for you.

“Stay, please,” he purred, half asleep by the time his head touched the pillow underneath.

He didn’t need to say more. Removing your clothes, you joined him under the bedlinen with a smirk.

The first lights of the morning filtered through the big window in Din’s bedroom. You had been awake for an hour now, but he had been so peacefully sleeping, you didn’t want to disturb him.

A tangled mess of limbs you were, your legs intertwined with his while your right cheek rested on his bare chest. Your left forearm was splayed across his abdomen, the tips of your fingers mindlessly caressing his ribs.

Pressing a kiss to his left pec, he stirred under you, slowly coming out of his slumber. You hugged him tighter, an easy smile surfacing.

“Good morning,” you husked when he looked down at you with just his left eye open, lips slightly curled downwards.

His addled expression made you snicker as you kissed his jawline.

“Morning,” he hushed back once his brain registered your words.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Everything hurts, but I’m okay.”

The arm of his under you moved, bringing you closer to him in a half embrace.

“I know you have questions,” he said a few moments later.

“Understatement of the year,” you joked, lifting your head slightly up to rest your chin on his chest. “Is now a good time?”

“Might as well,” his reply was accompanied by a smirk.

“You didn’t transform fully last night, did you?”

Din shook his head. “No, just halfway. I think your presence stopped it from happening.”

Did that mean that you could soothe the beast? That you could help Din in a way that really mattered? The mere possibility filled your belly with butterflies.

“And, well, the most obvious one… How?” you emphasized the last word.

“A witch cursed me before I killed her,” you looked at him quizzically, eyebrows raised, and he sighed. “A man by the name of Moff Gideon had someone I held dear under his grasp. A kid I was fond of,” he paused to gather his thoughts while your breath hitched at the name of Moff Gideon. “I fought Gideon to free him. I won, but he had backup I did not see coming. A witch named Morgan Elsbeth. She came to his rescue and I ended up killing her. Her last breath cursed me to an existence of apathy and becoming a beast. Guess it worked,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “That was eight years ago and ever since then, my ability to feel has been dying out while the beast has only gotten stronger.”

Your head spun with so much information, you almost felt dizzy. Did Din fight Moff Gideon? Was it his halo you chased eight years ago?

“Is that how you got the crack on your helmet and the scar?” you ventured, heart pounding.

“Mhm,” was his only reply. “How I lost my right eye too.”

The helmet was made of beskar, one of the strongest alloys in the Galaxy. Only a weapon strong enough would be able to melt it. But you couldn’t push him for more details, or it would be suspicious.

And did it really matter? Did you care that much about the Darksaber? Yes, you had spent your whole life looking for it; yes, you had promised your dying father you would finish the mission. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

“What was the kid’s name? What happened to him?”

“Grogu. He is Force sensitive, he went to the Jedi for training,” he pursed his lips, and your fingers smoothed out the crow’s feet around his right eye.

“You miss him,” you hummed, your fingertips tracing imaginary lines on his skin.

“I didn’t think I did. Till now,” he confessed, stirring under you. “I don’t know, it’s weird. Since last night I have started to… feel again. And it’s overwhelming.”

Your heart did a little jump against your ribcage. If he could feel now, did he feel for you?

You were too scared to ask, so didn’t.

“Maybe the curse is fading?”

“Maybe,” he said back, sounding unconvinced. “You hungry?”

You nodded.

“I’ll go get something. Bet Nau’ul has prepared a feast. Whether it’s edible or not, I don’t know.”

You chuckled at the joke and moved off him so Din could get up. In silence, you watched him dress, his back muscles rippling with every movement.

Yes, you could get used to this.

Fuck the Darksaber. Fuck everything. You just wanted to live your life. With him. Here, in Mandalore. Only if he’d let you.

It was selfish of you to think this way, but Din’s curse had become your blessing.

Every night since you discovered his secret, you’d go to his room and spend the hours of darkness with him. He would reluctantly take the helmet off, but each time you would reassure him he couldn’t scare you away, that what he thought he looked like didn’t matter in the slightest. And you meant every single word. In your eyes, he was perfect just the way he was.

There was still the issue of his Creed forbidding him, but you wondered if it was more habit than anything else.

And every full moon, you would follow him down to the Mythosaur lair to let him take you, excitement running through your veins every single time. You knew you shouldn’t enjoy it but allowing him to fuck you in beast form was exhilarating. Even with practice you had still not been able to take him fully ― his cock too big to bear. It was worse when you attempted a blowjob on him ― your jaw almost dislocated. But you were more than happy to try, obviously.

And of course, it helped him regulate, which was the most important point of all. He had told you he didn’t feel as cold either. Even if his body was hot to the touch, Din had explained how his organs, his blood, felt like icicles. Ever since the beast had had a taste of your warmth―Din’s words, not yours―it seemed like his feelings were slowly crawling back.

That had been interesting too. After so many years spent numb, Din had had a bit of trouble dealing with his emotions. Sometimes they were extreme, out of proportion even, but he was learning how to manage them. Although most days felt like one step forward and three back, especially when it was a touchy subject such as love.

You had tried, but Din was still of the idea that he couldn’t truly feel ― that this was just a glitch, a shortcut, but not the real thing. And because of his stupid theory, he didn’t want to hear you say anything about The Matter. You had seen how much he had improved, how much better he could deal with everything, and yet he wouldn’t listen to you in that respect.

You rolled your eyes, still thinking about it, as you trekked through the mud. It was a crispy morning, but the cold had started to recede. Poor Ca’nara had a faulty retractable third leg ― the inside mechanism was getting jammed regularly. You had decided to be proactive and walk to the landing site of your X-wing, in the hopes that some parts of your astromech droid were salvageable. An extremely long shot, yes, but you had to try at least.

In full armour, Din sauntered towards the dining room, where the three droids seemed to be conferring about something.

None of them heard him coming, and Nau’ul startled dramatically when he saw him.

“Oh! Alor! What― Uh, do you want something to eat?” he asked, looking at Mrs. Kri’gee and Ca’nara nervously.

Din frowned, suspicious of their jumpy, evasive behaviour.

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbled as his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny Nau’ul was holding, trying to conceal it. “What’s that?”

“Ah, this? Well. You see, I― It’s― Nothing really. I don’t really know what―” his stammering was riling Din up.

He was a damn droid, not a fucking human. How could Nau’ul get edgier than himself? Unbelievable.

“Give,” he extended his hand towards the droid, palm up, and curled his fingers with impatience.

The three droids shared weird looks, but Nau’ul finally handed him the object.

Din turned around the metal item and as soon as he did, he recognised the beskar. Brows knitting, he inspected the grooves and quickly identified them as astromeridian lines. This was not a simple object; it was a Jedi star compass. Confused as to how this came to be in the possession of Nau’ul, Din unclasped the compass and lifted the lid.

His breathing hitched and his heart skipped a beat. This was not any star compass; this was the star compass. One that all Mandalorians believed to be a myth. But the black plasma in the lodestone didn’t lie. In his hand he was holding the very same star compass that Tarre Vizsla had commissioned to keep track of the Darksaber in case it ever got stolen.

“Where did you get this?” he snapped, fingers clutching the device tight.

“I― Well, it’s complicated. I thought―”

“It’s hers, isn’t it?” he interrupted.

The memory of that day trip to your ship came back to him. A locket, you had said. Bullshit.

Nau’ul nodded.

“How long have you had this?”

“Weeks, Alor. I did recognise it from the lore I knew about House Vizsla, but we didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. She’s doing you good, Master, you’ve improved―”

“Unnecessarily? Are you for fucking real, Nau’ul?” Din replied angrily, teeth gritting.

Without expecting an answer, he turned around and stormed out of the room.

You were kneeling on the ground, elbow’s deep in the core of your old R3-D3 unit, trying to reach a hidden screw, when you heard heavy steps approaching.

“Good you’re here, I can’t get to this screw. I’ve been at it for five minutes now. Can you try?” you asked Din, who stopped inches away from your back.

When he didn’t say a word, you turned around and glanced up at him.

He radiated tension through every pore, his posture stiff and shoulders squared. Eyebrows furrowed, you got up, cleaning the palm of your hands on your trousers.

“What’s the matter, Din?”

“This. Why did you have this?” his voice transpired how mad he felt as he handed you an object you quickly recognised.

The star compass that Nau’ul had confiscated from you weeks ago. You had assumed the droid didn’t know what it was and hadn’t bothered to show it to Din.

Your eyes shot up to where you knew his were.

“I can explain,” you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his forearm.

“You better start talking now,” even if he hadn’t backed away from you, he felt so distant.

Your mind raced and your heart galloped inside your chest. You could lie your way out of this situation, but you didn’t want to. You loved him, and nothing else mattered. He would understand. Eventually.

“Din, listen to me, please. I’m not gonna lie to you: it is exactly what it looks like. My family, my tribe― we are trackers. Have been tracking the Darksaber for generations. I was raised to hate your people, but the message never really sunk in for me. Our purpose was to find the Darksaber and destroy it,” you explained while he remained deadly silent. “That was why I was travelling through the Mandalore system. I was tracking the Darksaber. I was going to Concordia, but I ran into technical problems with my X-wing and had to divert here. I think― I thought it was there.”

Until that night you sneaked out to the west wing. You had been caught before you could confirm your suspicions but were pretty sure that was what Din was hiding in the west wing. The reason he wouldn’t let you be anywhere nearby.

“But now you know it’s not in Concordia,” he finished for you.

You nodded.

“But I don’t care for it anymore, Din. Once I figured you likely had it, I made a choice. I chose you,” you whispered, closing in on him until your bodies met. “You have to believe me.”

He didn’t talk at all. Silence strung between you, dense and worrying, like a rope wrapping around your neck, forcing the oxygen out of your lungs. You didn’t want to panic, knowing that Din probably only needed time to think, to digest and ruminate.

Minutes went by and your grip on his forearm loosened. You were ready to take a step back, give him some space to process, when Din finally spoke in his modulated voice.

“I believe you,” a wave of relief washed over you, “and I choose you too.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and then climbed up your oesophagus. It was beating so hard, so fast, you were seconds away from passing out.

He chose you.

Before you could throw your arms around his neck with pure elation, Din took a step back and one hand reached towards the back of his belt. Confused, you followed the movement of his hand, a deep wrinkle burrowing between your brows.

Din presented you a black hilt, waved it a little, and then the black and white blade appeared, humming very loudly, although dimmer than what you expected. Your eyes widened at the sight of the Darksaber ― the item your whole family had been searching for, right there, in front of you, an inch away from your fingers.

Lifting your right hand, you reached for it.

Suddenly, a firing sound broke the silence and, inexplicably, Din leaned forward towards you, the Darksaber dropping from his hand.

You held him by the elbows, not understanding what was happening, as his hands grasped for you. Then a second firing noise uprooted a painful groan from him while he almost dragged you to the floor.

“Din? Din!” you whispered, on your knees with him in your arms, as your hands roamed his body.

You felt the warm blood before you could see it and panic settled in fast. He was profusely bleeding from two gunshots on his back, right below the beskar piece that covered his six.

“No, no. Wait. What―” you sobbed as Din groaned, his consciousness drifting away.

You were losing him fast, and you didn’t even know how.

“Are you okay? Is he dead?”

A male voice came from behind a tree near the cliff. A voice you had not heard in a long while, but quickly recognised.

Ashton.

Blaster still pointing at Din, Ash had frozen several meters away from you. What was he doing here? How did he get here unnoticed? Why? Fucking why?

But none of those questions left your mouth, gutted as you were, holding onto Din, worried he would slip away from you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, overwhelmed as you were.

Din stirred in your arms, and you saw the panic reflected in Ash’s eyes as he cocked the blaster in Din’s direction again. There was no time to think, to beg, to ask him to leave. To tell him you loved the man he was intent on killing.

So you did the only thing you could do. Your fingers found Din’s blaster in his holster, lifted it up, pointed to Ash, and shot.

The light beam flashed before it hit dead center between Ash’s eyes. He stumbled back and fell into the abyss behind him. And just like that, you had killed the only friend you had known.

You should have doubted your actions, but you didn’t. It all happened too quickly, and you had bigger worries than having killed one of the few people you cared about. Like losing the love of your life.

Dropping the blaster, you rushed to remove Din’s helmet.

“Din, please, just hold on. Please, stay with me. Please, don’t leave,” you screamed and cried, hands trembling and pressing on the wounds on his back.

His eyes fluttered open, only a tiny slit ― his gloved hand reached up, cradling your cheek.

“Cyar’ika,” he could barely talk. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you). Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No, no. NO. You ain’t saying goodbye. No,” your words slurred as your sobs intensified, your heart breaking into a myriad of tiny pieces.

You removed the glove of his hand to kiss the palm, your tears streaming between his fingers. Yours wrapped around his wrist, holding him there.

As you cried your eyes out, you noticed the Darksaber humming louder, almost deafening, and its light shining brighter. Its vibration called you, hearing your name inside your head. A Force deep within you awakening, beckoning you to touch it. A need as basic as breathing.

Through teary eyes, blinking fast, you gave in ― you grabbed it.

An electrifying sensation ran through you, all your muscles coiling at once. Your mind spiralled out of control, for a moment losing track of time and space. The Force was so intense, so primitive, you thought you would be obliterated by its magnitude.

When you could finally open your eyes, the blade had dimmed considerably and then it completely snuffed out. Your cries had not stopped though, so loud you almost missed Din’s voice.

“Mesh’la,” he rasped, trying to straighten his back, “you― you’re Force sensitive. You’ve used the Force of the Darksaber to heal me.”

Your wet eyes darted to him and then his wounds. Or where the wounds had been but no longer existed. Mouthing a gulp of air, you instantly dropped the Darksaber to hug him tight, crying louder than before.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. We’re okay,” he hushed, comforting you.

“I love you, Din,” you mumbled in the crook of his neck, relief running through you loosening your taut muscles. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me again or I’ll kill you myself.”

Din chuckled, one hand smoothing out your hair.

“Noted, cyar’ika.”

Cradling his handsome face, you pressed a kiss to his lips. Salty yet sweet. You kissed him again, looking for the solace of his tongue.

The wind carried some words you barely made out.

“Maker met.”

Four full moons had come and gone, and the beast was no more.

Din’s curse was broken. For good. Forever.

You couldn’t have asked for anything else. Anyone else. You loved him and he loved you back ― he had shown you many times. Right as he was showing you now.

Your lips brushed his tummy right above his belly button, leaving a trail of kisses as you found your way back to his mouth. Din was laying on his back, his rough hands caressing the back of your thighs as you kissed his scar and then his right eye, lips soft as a cloud.

He didn’t flinch anymore whenever you touched the sensitive skin or his blind eye. Instead, he sighed, as if your caress was soothing, calming. As if you could take away the pain he felt sometimes.

You sat back up on top of him, straddling his hips as his mushroom head hitched in your entrance, his hands compelling you to impale yourself. But you didn’t ― not yet.

Instead, you leaned over a bit, taking the helmet off the nightstand. It was heavy. Curious to know what it felt like, you put it on. The padding inside was soft, your face snug. It was slightly claustrophobic, but also comforting. Weird.

“It suits you, cyar’ika. You should consider taking up the Creed,” he mumbled, eyes full of desire, of yearning. Of love.

You chuckled and stirred your hips above him, the tip of his cock going in ever so smoothly.

“For you, I just might, Din.”

@baronessvonglitter @bishtrouille @natalieispunk @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove

[vyeoh]

Crane wives is to traffic smp as hozier is to good omens

[alistair-stan]

Clearly my stamina for video games has waned DRAMATICALLY bc ive barely managed to clock 2 hours of inquisition across 2 days.

And its not like im fatigued by the gameplay or anything yet like i just got the fucking title screen lol. Like this is not a hinterlands bear moment or a fallow mire situation yet

[asteriskheart]

new and redone bond tags 4/?

[countlessimagines]

Your World [ Wolverine x Reader ]

Summary: your Wolverine was your whole world.

A/N: I like writing angsty stuff and this movie provided me with the best possible scenarios <3 hehehe I love wolverine

Warnings: Cussing, mentions of blood

Marvel MASTERLIST Link here

SPOILERS BELOW

-

It wasn’t an ideal love story that brought you back to Logan.

Being a mutant with incredible healing abilities and a broken heart made it so easy for Stryker to capture you. Your Wolverine had been the one to rescue you from the clutches of Stryker and the horrible fate that loomed over your head. All the days of experiments and cold rooms where you’d be injected with who knows what, it all lead to him.

But you always had to remind yourself that Logan had gotten you out, made you a X-Men, but found the brutal truth of how dangerous it was to be loved by you.

You loved deeply and endlessly, like a void waiting for eternity to be loved and to love. Logan was exactly what your heart desired for years.

Someone who could never die, never leave you.

Fighting alongside each other became a beautiful symphony. And God protect anyone who caused you harm, because Logan would only see red and slice them to pieces. It was a miracle none of the X-men had been torn to shreds, but Scott always came close.

The team would always joke about your relationship, saying how could an innocent soul be in love with such a brute like Wolverine.

But Logan knew the only way he could breathe was to be with you, to hold you, to kiss and love you.

He would always find his way to you no matter the circumstance.

Beast was holding you in the infirmary because he wanted to run tests? Logan was there.

Storm and Jean wanted to have a girls night? Logan was sitting outside the room in case anything happened.

Scott was training you in hand to hand combat? Logan was definitely there.

Your world consisted of him and him only.

And maybe that is why it hurt so much when he let your entire team die, because you had not made them your whole world.

You had been away on a mission by yourself when you received the news of their passing. You returned to a bloodied home, no sign of Wolverine to be found.

Life began to blur after what happened. You had to go into hiding, because people blamed you for what happened, too. And there was no one there to stop you from spiraling into a flurry of self hatred.

Hatred for what you had become. A love sick puppy so consumed with Logan only. Maybe if you had been there, maybe if you hadn’t put so much trust in him, maybe if you could have taken the hits for your team.

And the thought that stuck with you the most, if you had been there, screaming for help - would Logan had only saved you and left the rest to die?

Because the love you shared was slowly becoming so obvious to you that it was not pure or natural, but rather so simple it would have made you and Logan public enemy number one.

But you supposed that had already happened, too.

Your mutant abilities were the only thing you had left, so you consumed yourself in underground work. Becoming exactly what the X-men had fought against.

Shedding your uniform, you had to separate yourself from the X-men because people recognized you too easily. It was hard to find any work where people wanted a tainted mutant.

You tried your hardest to not let every moment be consumed by the thought of Logan. He had never reached out to you after the event, despite the grief between you so overwhelmingly strong. He couldn’t face you and love someone who would have stepped through hell and back for him.

He felt as if he didn’t deserve it.

So time continued to pass as the bond between the two of you was severed so deeply that it was suffocating to be apart.

But it wasn’t until Deadpool showed up to your apartment that you were finally addressing your past.

“Leave, now. I’m not hearing any of your bullshit.” You tried to close your door but he stopped it.

“Please, c’mon. I need you! Wolverine needs you!”

You tensed at the mere mention of him. “If he needed me so desperately, it is far too late for him to come back.”

“But you’re his one and only, for fuck’s sake! Every variant I’ve met of him has had a you stalking around like a lap dog. You know how many of you’s have beaten the shit out of me?” He rambled on, and you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t care to understand what you’re saying, so goodbye, Wade!”

Deadpool sighed before kicking the door in and stabbing you through the chest with one of his blades. You stared at him in shock and couldn’t register anything as he flung you over his shoulder into an orange portal.

You landed on a hard ground that pushed the blade out of you. “Wade, you’re a dead man.”

He stepped through the portal and leaned over your body. “Sorry about that, but I can’t die so you’re stuck with not only me, but Wolverine!”

Deadpool giggled and ran off, making sure to rip the blade out of your stomach. You winced but felt your regeneration cells working to stitch you back together.

Slowly sitting up, you spat out blood.

“I tried to tell him not to bring you into this.”

You froze at the voice you fought to forget, willing calm into your fast beating heart.

Sitting up fully only made your legs wobble and your head spin. But you had to look up into the eyes of the man you still loved.

Logan looked different, healthier and happier. It only made you feel sick.

“I’ve been busy.” He said it so casually that it made you want to slap his chest for the lack of greeting. “Wade gave me a second chance. I helped save his world.”

“You haven’t seen me in years and you choose to brag?” You scoffed, removing your shirt to assess the damage Wade had done to your shirt.

Logan sucked in a breath as he took in your battle worn scars. Despite your healing factor, you still kept every scar from every wound you had endured.

He remembered the last time he saw you, you only adorned a few on your chest and stomach.

Now it was littered with them.

“You’ve been busy too, I gather?” Logan said with a hint of sarcasm.

You glared at him. “Why am I here?”

“Wade thought that I needed you.” He admitted it with such ease, like he knew it to be true in his heart.

“And? Do you need me?”

He hesitated before answering. “I’ve always needed you… and I think that’s why I let myself go for so many years. Because I knew that no matter what I did or said to you, you would never forgive me. I would always be the one who let our team die… let you go.”

“Well you’re right, because I never would forgive you. Not after abandoning all of us,” you choked out, the tears beginning to creep into the corners of your eyes. “I loved you fiercely, Logan. All it would have taken was one call during those first few days and I would have been there for you. We could’ve been healing together. But you chose this life of despair for both of us, Logan.”

“I know.” He said, his own eyes watering.

“I despise you.” You said, but your heart was breaking, letting out the true feelings. It was bleeding for him and for him only.

Logan stepped closer and you did not stop him.

“I want nothing to do with you.” You said, your voice cracking.

“I understand.” He said, five feet away from you now.

“I hate you.” You began to weep, the blood in your heart revealing what you wanted truly.

“I don’t blame you.” Logan closed the gap between the two of you, holding you close to his chest. You cried into his shoulder, holding on for dear life. “I’m never leaving you again.”

All you could muster was a small nod, your tears staining his shirt. His own were dripping onto the top of your head.

And in the empty apartment, you and Logan stood, holding onto each other.

Holding your world together.

[tteokdoroki]

✎ᝰ. OCT 8TH ★ MONSTER FUCKING - katsuki bakugou .ᐟ

[CHAPTER EIGHT BEAUTY & THE BEAST] katsuki bakugou as the beast + monster fucking. once upon a time, a village girl thinks to herself — fuck it! being trapped inside a castle with a monstrous sexy bloody beast isn’t so bad… she might as well make it worth her while ( 10.3K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, beauty & the beast!au, enemies to lovers, bath sex, soft sex, cum play, blood play, size kink, praise kink, body worship, pussy jobs, body modifications, tummy bulges, premature orgasms, marking, biting, belle + fem!reader, beast!katsuki bakugou.

✧ fairy godmother's note - hello, time for our second kinktober fic yippieee!! i think this is my second time doing bakugou and monster fucking...he's just perfect for it!! anyways, enjoy my loves! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

the beast wasn’t all that bad. 

at least, not compared to most people back home. 

in the village, beyond the forest’s edge and hidden by evergreen foliage — the townsfolk believe you to be as beautiful as the world around you. eyes as bright as the golden sun rising over a hilly horizon. skin as soft as the flesh of fresh fruits hanging low from the trees. a voice that compliments that of early morning birds — gentle, kind. you’re the perfect vision. a perfect person. except for your one fatal flaw. 

you have your wits about you. it makes you strange. 

the people of your village think you were peculiar for having the tip of your nose poked into the spine of of a book each and every day. it’s not your fault that you enjoy the scent of their pages or that you find every story so alluring that you could read it over once or twice (and sometimes thrice). the people back home were unnerved by your intelligence — staring at you sideways if you daydreamed for a little too long (wishing for a life outside of your tiny province, one  full of adventure) or sending you concerned stares if you stumbled over your steps while reading.

it didn’t help that your papa was a whimsical inventor — his intricate machines that coughed and spluttered a little too loudly and left him covered in soot were often the talk of the town, worsening the whispers. despite the cruel opinions of others, papa’s love for you never faltered, all the while promising you that his prized tools would get you out of town, away from the people who called you odd and strange —  they thought him just as crazy as you. like father like daughter, you suppose.

then there was shindou. the most sought after bachelor in all of town and quite possibly the worst part about your old life. your life before the beast. the man was handsome, that much was true — his eyes and hair an inky black that would draw anyone in like a misty night. features, chiselled and strength obvious. shindou was pretty, eye candy without an ounce of brains. conversation with him felt like watching paint dry, he spoke so highly of himself you often wondered how his head hadn’t imploded from getting so big. for some reason, he was hellbent on making you his wife. not because you were smart, or liked to read and explore, but because to him… you were a pretty prize to be treasured.

so, when you stumbled upon the beast’s castle that night and gave up your freedom in exchange for your father’s, you hadn’t realised how lucky you were to be away from yo shindou and his crew. the village too. still, that didn’t take away from the harsh reality of your new prison. an enchanted castle, enclosing you in with the mangy beast. 

in strange ways, as strange as your mind, you found in your heart to feel sympathy for the beast, or bakugou as you’d come to know him. for many years he’d been cursed with a form cruel to the human eye — shaggy blonde fur, wild and blood red eyes and horns that were comparable to the devils. his selfish nature and a spell from hundreds of years ago had not been kind to the creature. from the sounds of things ( stories from the seemingly…alive…furniture existing within the walls of his withering home ) bakugou had failed to show concern or care in his youth, by taking a rose from a haggard old woman in exchange for a night’s worth of shelter. in return, she cursed him with the looks of a beast until he could find true love. 

his staff ( the furniture ) had told you of his crumbling hope and damaged heart. it still didn't excuse his odd behaviour — where the princely beast told rather than asked, scratched and smashed rather than communicated. he was much angrier than the other inhuman inhabitants of the enchanted castle. though…sometimes you noticed a tenderness swirling between the brown flecks within katsuki’s vermillion eyes, rich with a longing for affection that filled you with warmth whenever you caught him staring at you reading in the library he’d set up just for you or when he’d take you outside to feed the birds in the snow together. 

other times, katsuki could be somewhat…charming. since arriving, you could tell that he was doing his best to become a gentleman who toned down his anger. he fiddled with cutlery too small for his claws during meals with you just to be polite — denying his blush with a petulant pout whenever he was caught. he tried not to stare too long or at the wrong places whenever you spoke and spent time together. he wasn’t like shindou, who drooled over you like you were a piece of meat fresh from a roast. 

for a long time, you all but wished to find someone who understood you — who’d nurture your mind and the wind beneath your wings rather than see you as a prized pet bird to be kept in a cage. and over time, you had naively began to believe that katsuki, the beast, might have been the only person in this whole world to see you exactly the way you wanted to be seen. the hope that you had met your match flickered like a small candle’s flame in your heart — it reflected as a small glint of light in katsuki’s once exhausted, pessimistic eyes. you thought, day by day, that you could be happy here. with the beast. in place of your village back home.

just when you thought katsuki was changing, that maybe you could be happy here with the beast — you’re thrown back into a reality you had tried so hard not to face. katsuki is a beast, a cruel monster keeping you a prisoner in his home. you are not a friend who has free roam over his castle or free will under his rein, you’re reminded that you’re his captive in exchange for your father’s remaining life. your wake up call comes in the form of an argument, the result of stumbling across the forbidden east wing and a rose petal that wilts so pretty in the centre of an abandoned room. 

“i thought i fuckin told you never to come in here!” you could see it in his frenzied eyes, how the trust you’d built up with the beast so quickly came tumbling down. you’d crossed a line and an unspoken rule and no matter how many times the word sorry poured from between your plush lips — bakugou the beast was far beyond the point of forgiveness. he couldn’t trust you, and you couldn’t trust him. “leave!” he’d bellowed, snarled like a warning sign. 

katsuki had lashed out at you in a way you’d never seen before. like a wild animal backed into a corner. he’d shown you fangs and growled at you in a noise you know for sure humans don’t make. “get the fuck out!” he roared until you were trembling, throwing whatever he could get his clawed hands on whilst  splintering wood and shattering porcelain. 

you’d done just that, dashing down flights of stairs in terror while throwing your cape on. 

the inhabitants, his little candleholder sero and tiny clock denki along with the others, had tried to stop you. begging you not to face the cold bitter night alone on your horse but your judgement was far too clouded by your emotions — the hurt and betrayed wounds inflicted by the beast who’s trust you thought you had earned. the snowstorm outside rages with your unstable state, how could he scream at you like that? how could he say those awful things? it’s not long before you’re lost the ice cold and the daunting wolves that assume you’re a prey item like a vulnerable deer instead of a young girl with bambi eyes. 

viscous, wild, teeth and tongue snap at your horse — threatening to wound you both and draw blood. the animal that you ride, in turn, throws you to the ground in favour of its own escape. 

you can’t even blame the poor creature, only fools risk their lives to be at the mercy of a beast.

yet, your beast, your bakugou moved without thinking to save you from a bitter end. you recognise his growls before you see him — and before you know it the limp bodies of wolves that attacked you go flying over your head. their own howls and growls turn to pathetic puppy whimpers as bakugou fights them off, tooth and nail. fighting with all his might to protect you from getting your throat torn out. even if he’d frightened you, screamed at you and broken your trust — he wasn’t about to lose you to a brutish winter and a pack of hungry wolves. the blonde creature fights until his burly body is done and his claws are tainted with the blood of his enemies — wearily looking for you, checking you for wounds in such a gentle way you’re surprised out of your skin. heart racing.

you’ve never seen katsuki look at you that way, as  though he was just as terrified of you dying as you were at the thought dying yourself. its not long before his adrenaline wears off and the wounds he’d gotten from his battle finally take their toll on him.

it gives you the chance to run. to escape. to be home with your father. 

but what would be waiting for you at the other end? a marriage to a man with half a brain and six children to fill the void. people who thought you mad and crazy? you’d made a promise to stay with him, for your father’s life. there was no other choice but to lug bakugou back to his castle using all of your might. to help him. to save him. not because you wanted to, but because you had to. 

at least that’s what you’d told yourself as a way of pretending not not to care for him.

piping hot water sloshes around in the pearlescent tub, fit only for royalty. it’s taken you some time to fill it up to full volume with the help of some of the castles staff… or inanimate objects. momo the sweet little tea pot had been working overtime to boil fresh batches until the water level was high enough for the beast. you’re sure that her stout had nearly given out, but for her master, she’d pushed on. her dedication, all of their dedication (the candleholder, the little clock, the pots and pans and foot rests and dusters) make you wonder what had truly become of this place, a crumbling castle so dark and gloomy that it was left for ruin.

was the beast really worth all of this trouble for all of them to stay by his side and endure his foul demeanour?  

then again, why were you also tending to the beast? it’s not as if you enjoyed his company, yet you stay, drawing this bath to help tend to his wounds. the wounds he had gotten as a result of protecting you. 

you spare him your gaze once the bellowing creature ( now unusually quiet ) enters the room; no longer tailed by his animated inanimate servants — nothing but a roll of steam and a wall of silence separating the two of you now. though it’s hard not to look at how well he’s built beneath patches of straw blonde fur. 

katsuki’s arms are burly and toned, his chest is well sculpted as if carved from the very same stone that makes up the beautiful interior of his castle, whilst the angle of the beast’s face is strong, handsome. you wonder what he may look like completely human, if his jaw would still be sharp enough to cut through marble and diamonds. if his eyes would be narrowed and fiery, swirling with the riches of ruby gems. it takes all your willpower to tear your secretive stare away from him while he undresses in front of you, as though you’re not even there, heat growing rapidly in the middle of your face like the epicentre of an earthquake.

water sloshes violently as his hulking frame sinks into the bath, tinging it an ink stain of rosey pink from where it warmly laps over his open wounds — the sound of water hitting the smooth stone floor lets you know that you can turn around to tend to him. you keep your gaze lowered and mindful as you work, wringing a soft linen cloth in a clearer pot of the liquid mixed with rubbing alcohol. “h-hey, don’t do that,” you scold gently, lips falling into an unimpressed frown as the beast moves to lick at his cuts and scratches. bakugou pauses and squints at you menacingly while you reach for the same soggy paw he’d been tending to. you’d laugh if he weren’t so wounded and you weren’t so scared — he looked like a kitten. “i need to clean them properly.” 

an ignorant scoff from the blonde tangles with the soapy steam in the air, only earns him a roll of your eyes and a frustrated glare — his head angling itself away from you because he doesn’t want to give in and admit that your call of action would be right. you find it childish that he would ignore you but take to dabbing the first bleeder that you find with your alcohol soaked cloth, ensuring that it’s completely clean. the stinging sensation at the opening of the wound causes katsuki to roar at you in pain, baring the sharp edge of his teeth as if to threaten you with them.

you jump back, knowing that one wrong move could have you torn up by vicious claws and teeth. “just hold still!” you snap, raising your hands out of the way. “stop being such a baby and let me help you!”

“that fucking hurts, watch it.” he spits hotly, nostrils flared in annoyance. 

beginning to shake from a mix of anger and fear, you throw the bloodied cloth in your hand to the edge of the tub. the beast doesn’t look at you and your own temper flares. your face scrunches furiously and a cool snarl lays on the tip of your tongue — your own way of trying to put out the flames before they end in a disastrous blow out. 

“if you’d just kept still it wouldn’t hurt so much!”

crimson roses bloom on the surface of the water and bakugou whirls around sharply, both of your chests rising and falling at the impending explosion threatening to blow smoke into the crowded bathroom. “well, if you hadn’t have run away ‘nd straight into a shitty wolf’s den, then this wouldn’t have fucking happened!” he growls back with the air of a petulant child. 

“well you hadn’t fucking frightened me, i wouldn’t have run away!” your petty mouth surprises bakugou, you almost seem too pretty to curse — from the moment you’d first arrived at the cursed castle; your beauty had been a breath of fresh hair, hope for a brighter future on the horizon but since being cursed, any charm the beast… the prince might have had wore away over the years. leaving a husk of the man he once was, you have him stumped and spluttering for words, causing his staff behind the closed door to laugh.

an argument, though childish and silly, brews between you both like a storm coming from over a hill. neither of you dare to back down, not caring if you leave deeper and more emotional wounds on one another. katsuki doesn’t know how people work and you’re exhausted, missing home — the pair of you a ticking time bomb of disaster waiting to happen. “well… well, y’shouldn’t have been goin’ through my shit in the west wing!” bakugou reacts before he thinks, wet talons grabbing onto the crisp front of your shirt as he leers down, a gnarly growl clawing its way out of his throat to match the nasty sneer on his snout and lips. “i warned ya, shit happens when you don’t listen.” 

at the end of your tether, you forcefully push the herculean tyrannical beast back into the tub — using a surprising amount of might to fully submerge him in the hot water once more. “well you should learn to stop being such a stubborn brat and control your temper!” you’re hardly thinking rationally at this point, sick and tired of letting him think he can bully you into silence and submission… just because he’s big and has claws and sharp teeth that could rip meat from a live carcass. 

you move to shove him again but bakugou acts just as quickly — using his existing grip on you to yank you further into his bath. in a struggle and with a surprised scream that overlays his frustrated growling, you collapse against his furry chest and settle into his lap as water sloshes forcefully about the place and soaks through your dress — weighing down its fabric and slowing your movements. after a few minutes of wet wrestling; katsuki either gives up because of the pain caused by his cuts or refuses to fight you anymore — fully aware of what his size in comparison could do to you.

he slumps deeper into the tub, brooding, and an unbearable tension mounts in the air around you. the position has brought you face to face, breath mingling in the pocket of space and time between you both — above him, staggered forward, with your arms either side of his head for stability, katsuki feels that you’re close enough for him to reach out and just brush a thumb over the swell of your plush lips… gently grasp at your chin and maybe give you a kiss. he doesn’t know when he started feeling this way towards you or why he lashes out at you in place of sharing his true emotions but the beast casts his ruby framed gaze to the side, avoiding entering the possibility of making you uncomfortable.

after a moment, any anger that either or you shared fizzles away like a sparkler doused in a bucket of icy water. shame replaces the fire in your veins and you quickly distract yourself from less than proper thoughts of the beast by get back to work on the bleeders in his arms. “n-now hold still…” you tell him, swallowing thickly which undermines the authority in your voice. “it’s going to sting… so please, let me help you.” your voice falls into a tender whisper as you resume dabbing at his injuries with the rag.

bakugou snarls barks roughly while you clean him  up but soon relaxes into the water, comforted by your soft vanilla scent and the warmth of your thighs around your waist to keep yourself steady. now that he’s no longer directing his anger at you, the atmosphere dissipates into something more affectionate, hearts beating in calm sync — you sitting on his lap looking so pretty while the lukewarm water carves out the shape of your body beneath wet clothes. 

“by the way, thank you for saving my life back there.” 

“you’re welcome,” eyes closing, bakugou lets out a shuddered breath, his voice thick with gravel and bidy fidgety beneath your own. despite the cooler water surrounding you both, the temperature in the room rises like a solar flair — especially when your proximity increases so that you can dab up to the gashes stretching across his handsome fully face. when your eyes meet again, admist the work, the blonde is overcome with the urge to kiss you. he surges forward and presses your foreheads together, a large marred and hand encasing the swell of you thigh to pin you to his lap. the movement is rough, disturbing the peaceful bath water but the kiss he gives you is careful and cautious — slightly chapped lips swooping upwards to catch yours in a cute chaste kiss. 

you jump at the sudden contact, your entire body tingling with release and an excitable heat flashes through you at the brief sensation. you taste the blood in his mouth and salt on his tongue but before you can fully enjoy the moment —  katsuki is gone as quickly as he came. leaning back into the tub with a flushed face. 

it’s like your body misses him when he’s gone; despite never having him like this before. “wait… wait,” desperate whispers pour from between your subtly glossed lips and your bath water soaked hands come up to cup the fluffy edges to his face. “kiss me. kiss me again, katsuki,” 

surprised by the lack of rejection; bakugou’s talons sink further into the doughiest part of your thighs torn between obliging your request and keeping you far, far away from him. no one has ever wanted something like that… like a kiss, from him of all people. a horrid, ugly and undeserving beast. and yet, you borderline beg above him, hardly distracting from the wet glint in your eyes. you want this. want him. “are you… are you sure?” he tries to ask you, preening into your dainty fingers as they comb back his wet fur. 

“i’m sure,” you hum against him, wanting. “please. it’s what i want.” 

for a moment; it doesn’t seem like katsuki s going to budge. you sense his hesitancy, some kind of mental block that makes him hold back even as he leans in haltingly and noses over your Cupid’s bow. it’s like he’s testing his own confidence and your patience wears thin — so you open your mouth to plead, to encourage him only for the blonde beast  to delve deep into the yearning hotness of your mouth. his lips move against yours with a feverish air, unleashing hundreds of years of pent up emotion and revealing just how touch starved he must have been all this time.

from what you can tell, the beast has been alone for a long rime — shunned for his looks and the cool ice cage around his heart. you’re not sure if you care about any of that, not right now, at least. for your body wins the war over your mind and heart, all worked up by the mash of teeth and tongue that from the basis of your kisses. he gives you what you asked for, long and thick tongue pressing into every unexplored crevice of your eager mouth — starting an itch in your lower belly that you know only bakugou would be able to reach. 

having the beast like this, hungry for passion, wandering claws and sharp edged teeth nipping at your lips makes you needier and needier. you sigh dreamily into the sloppy lip locks, losing all control and pushing your hips down against katsuki. rubbing your thighs together over his wide lap is no easy feat, but you try, dying to alleviate the ache brought on by toothy kisses and the possessive sounds he makes when you try to pull away for air. he grunts gluttorally when your clothed cunt accidentally brushes against his impressive bare girth — the only thing separating your sexes being the water logged gusset of your panties, linen and pure white in colour.

you can practically feel his cock twitch beneath your legs as you straddle the beast, peaking out through his golden fur and hardening by the minute. his size should be intimidating to you, just half hard and he’s practically the length of half your arm, even if you were to give it some thought … you’re far too distracted. mind far too hazy — katsuki tearing away from your kiss to stamp a frenzied pathway up your neck and marking it with his claim. the action proves to you that his bark indeed matches his bite when he wants it too, vicious red eyes mapping their way over the unmarked parts of your skin — licking and sucking bruises just beneath the surface that’ll be obvious to the staff in the morning. tender to the touch later on as well.

he doesn’t leave you in pain for too long, lapping over the inflamed areas with his heavy wet tong — a paw reaching out of the bath to settle on the back of your head so he can further relish in the way you weakly hang over him. “so soft….so delicate,” bakugou curiously seeks out more spots along the column of your throat to see which ones make you tick and sigh for him prettily, your warm, wet pussy reacting to his quiet raspy tone and clenching around the water in the tub. with shaky hands, you weave your digits into the roots of golden honey fur in an attempt to bring his mouth back to yours. dying to taste the beast yet again.

you want more. you want to go further. perhaps it’s the adrenaline from having almost lost your life earlier on in the night or maybe you just want to find some sick way to thank the creature that saved it. but all you know, is that you want the beast — right down to your very core. you whimper in frustration and your pulsating pussy rolls smoothly over the beast’s swelling erection floating in the bath water, it’s not enough to satisfy you when you’re burning for his tender touch this bad. “please,” you coo airly, head tilting where katsuki kisses the point at which your neck meets your jaw, tongue dragging over your pulse point. “please give me more of you.” 

it’s a big ask, you know. to ask katsuki to be vulnerable with you when you’ve just been at each other’s throats. but you’ve always wanted to know him, from the moment he decided to keep you here in his castle — you’ve wanted to know who he really is behind the fangs, claws and fur. what better time than to ask him now, when you’re grinding against him in a bathtub that barely fits him and dwarfs you by contrast. “why?” bakugou murmurs softly; his fur tacking to your wet skin.

“because… i know you want me too. i-i want to give myself to you.” you huff, shivering at the tenderness in his voice which differs to the black claws that rake up and down your inner thighs, sneaking past the hem of your damp skirts to the scalloped edge of your underwear. 

your hands still track their way through his sun kissed fur, lifting his head from your chest to have him look at you. his vermillion eyes drink in every inch of your darling face, puffy lips and doe eyes that glisten under the flickering candle light in the regal bathroom. fucking hell, you were right. he wanted you. ‘course he did. 

“if that’s what you wish…” bakugou’s chest rumbles as he speaks before capturing your lips in a chaste kiss, earning warm pools of your slick through your panties, right against his hard cock. he secures his hold on you and shifts to lift you both from the tub — presumably to continue this in his chambers as you grind and grab at him.

however, you tug harshly enough on his fur to make him falter — droplets of water splattering from his silky coat to the tub when he freezes in place (half out of the tub). “w-wait!” shaking your head, you push him back down into the water. “you’re still hurt a-and shouldn’t exert yourself. stay… let me say thank you and take care of the rest,” a beat of silence echoes throughout the room, katsuki unresponsive to your offer. self doubt invades the cave of your skull over your brain, perhaps stopping him had given him time to think this through and regret. perhaps he was caught up in the moment and the beast truly did not want you. you can’t tell, you haven’t been able to read him thus far. his fold demeanour being all that you know. “u-unless i misread this and have pushed past your limits. in which case i’m extremely sorry—“

steeling yourself and putting on a polite smile, you prepare for the worst — pushing yourself from bakugou’s lap in the face of silent rejection. yet, as you turn to leave, a clawed hand darts out to grip your waste and forcefully shakes water from the bathtub. the action keeps you cemented and spread over bakugou’s naked, wide lap and his expression morphs into that of kicked puppy, as though he regrets what he’s done to you already. or not responding to you sooner. 

hesitancy occupies the electrified air, dancing in a confusing concoction with the desire that once buzzed through it. 

“it’s not that i no longer want you or want this,” the blonde admits gruffly, keeping his eyes on the waves in the water and toying with a loose thread of your sodden skirts. “i haven’t been… kind to you since the start of your stay. i don’t even know if i fuckin’ deserve to have you like this,” in spite of holding back, katsuki’s lungs burn with brightly coloured lust and affection, in shades of fiery red and sunset orange. the steam taking residence in the tiled room trapping you both in the unmistakable heat of desire. “i want you. i do. but ‘m havin’ a hard time believing’ that you want the same. i don’t deserve it. i’m hideous.” 

“that’s not true,” you tell him earnestly, cradling his furry wet face between your pruning fingers in an attempt to reassure him. even though he’s at his most vulnerable, your heart flutters against your ribcage at katsuki’s honesty — the beast finally opening up to you. if that doesn’t fan the flames of your desperation for him, then nothing else will. “you’re not to me, bakugou… and if it’s my words you don’t believe, then let me show you. let me help you understand.”

silence resumes as you let your words sink in, hoping that at least one of them has touched the beast’s heart as he has done with yours. 

and all it takes is one small nod from katsuki to know that you have — forcing your way into his mouth ( with his consent ) once more, tongue twisting with the pink of his own and uncovering the taste of bloody wolf against his teeth from earlier. the kiss is even more passionate than before, the both of you letting go of your inhibitions, swapping spit while your hands slip from the fur atop his head to run over the softer parts of his body. massaging and mapping out his strong pecs and beefy arms, appreciating every inch of the blonde beast so he never doubts your yearning for him again. 

the grinding resumes too, especially as katsuki’s affection-starved body grows used to your debauched touch and hungry kisses — head hitting the very end of the bathtub with a dull thud, sending water over its edge and to your right. you both move with more vigour, the blonde becoming more comfortable in matching your pace and thrusting upwards when you buck down. oxygen evacuates your brain, making room for the inexperienced creature below you every time the heavy, solid length of his cock drags slowly over your increasingly throbbing clit hidden behind panties drenched in both water and fresh waves of arousal. 

even with his sprouting confidence and belief that you crave him as much as he does you — the beast moves too slow for your liking, leaving it up to you to take matters into your own hands. quite literally scrambling into the depths of the water to shred off your panties keeping you away from smothering  bakugou’s monsterous cock with your silken slit. 

his length bobs upright in the water, slapping against his fluffy tummy while is bright red tip breaches the surface — shiny from evidence of his arousal. the pair of you share a hungry moan at the sight, a glossy white smearing over blonde fur, katsuki hard and heavy. he’s unlike any man you’ve ever seen, ribbed entirely along his shaft with balls that hang extremely low and full of seed. despite feeling his size against you before, your mouth falls open in slight shock at the sight, instantly watering — katsuki’s dick could be mistaken for a third leg, chubby and a mushroomed at the tip. you’ve never had a partner so big before.

a tapered whimper, so quiet that you almost miss it, bubbles on the seams of bakugou’s lips as he bites them with his pointed animalistic teeth. “keep starin’ at me like that ‘n i don’t know what i’ll do.” he warns huskily, throat bobbing beneath the sandy fur at his neck. “s’been a while… and i know it’s not like the humans you’re used to. it’s…big. so i understand if you don’t want to…”

“it’s perfect.” you purr lowly and cut him off, the sound rivalling that of the beast’s, leaning forward to spit on his sore red tip as it oozes precum and lewdly rubbing your palm over his cockhead and shaft to spread the lubricating mix all over him, letting it mingle in the water. “you’re perfect. i can’t wait to take you, make it fit. i want to be the one about to make you feel good after so long.” 

a strangled howl forms deep within his chest at your admission — his extremely large body palpitating wholly as you take the entire weight of his cock into your dwarfed hand, barely able to fit all of your fingers around him. you feel for the prominent vein in the underside of his shaft, pressing down on it while your remaining fingertips toy with the sensitive ridges and bumps that decorate him. 

when you look up at bakugou the beast with beautiful, big eyes he feels like he could die here. happily. in beast form and all. he could never be human again or break his curse and he’d be content to have you looking up at him like this, with his huge  cock in your tiny hand, be the last thing the blonde ever sees. “fuck,” he snarls tip bleeding hot arousal over your knuckles and into the tub, knees shifting apart to give you more room — sending water flying out of the bath. 

you inch forward again, breathing warmly against katsuki’s damp lips as he begins to weaken beneath you with every pump of his dick. “i can’t wait to see how you feel, i’m going to get myself ready for you. is that okay?” you check with him, even though his mane is tousled about with how fast he’s nodding. whispering faint pleads against your wet Cupid’s bow. 

“please… just hurry it up,” katsuki lets his temper flare briefly, almost as hot as the water that soaks his fur and your clothes. lukewarm at best. he rambles for the most part, brainlessly even. lackadaisically rutting  into the pathetic small circle your little fist barely makes around him — the force of his hips causing water to splash up against your dress. “‘m ready for it…” he adds begrudgingly. 

the sight of the beast’s submissiveness and desperation brings a smile to your cherry bitten lips, clit throbbing and cunt quivering around the water you sit in. “i’ve got you, don’t worry…” assuring him gently, your mouth hangs open and follows the sweet howl uttered from your partner’s lips — its volume just above the explicit, wettish sounds of your hand jerking off the entirety of his shaft. even though you don’t want to, you only slightly let up on the pace of your palm smoothly gliding in and out of the water ( around katsuki ) to pull him towards your bare pussy.

his hips canter and chase your heavenly grip, fat droplets of his precum flying about the place and into the tub from just how much the beast is leaking. bakugou feels his mind sink into a hazy fog when you lift your hips to hover over his girth, the fuzziness shrouding his brain showing on his muzzle and handsome face. bliss lines his vermillion framed eyes, those same eyes that flutter shut in anticipation. waiting for you to put your honeyed pussy on him and make him yours.

katsuki can’t contain the feverish pants that escape him when you guide his clawed paws to hold your hips and help lower you onto him. the closer your heated core gets to his seedy cock, the harder it becomes to breathe and the humid he exhales starts to mingle with your own. 

both of you hiss pitifully in unison at the first tap of the blonde’s monsterous cock against your sticky, needy mound. your aching clit instantly catches on the ridges of his dick deliciously, causing you to crumple against the beast’s marshy furry chest — gripping onto locks of gold around his neck to ground yourself, bring yourself back down from an immense and otherworldly jolt of pleasure that bounces from the tail end of your spine to the top of your skull. you feel as though your brain has been knocked about, bakugou languidly thrusting upwards to drag his length through sluice, puffy folds and grind against your clit — clearly seeking the heat of your pulsating sex. 

“s-so good, katsuki,” a sheen of sweat condescends against your skin, glazing you in a pearlescent shine while you throw your hips back and forth over the blonde’s fat dick. he’s in no better state than you, talons sinking into the peachy flesh to cope with the way you move feverishly above him. sweat beads at his hairline, murderous ruby eyes growing heavy and kisses and god, you think he looks so perfect like this. when his remorseless resolve comes crashing down and he takes everything that you have to offer. “think you’re so beautiful,” 

rose pink tinges hotly at his cheeks while he shakes his head — denying your praise. ropes of saliva forming connections between his sharp white teeth and his strawberry tongue while he tosses his head back at your praise, letting out a stream of enchanting moans. katsuki’s adam’s apple bobs between small whispers of ‘fuck’ and ‘please’ punctuated by the slap of water hitting the floor from your sinfully synced bodies. he doesn’t let up on buck of his hips to meet your sodden sex, your puffy folds spread perfectly either side of the meat or his shaft — allowing your arousal pearling pleasure bud to graze his cockhead rhythmically. causing both of you to quiver in ecstasy.

“‘m not,” the beast denies, drawing his hips far back until they meet the bottom of the tub before jutting forward — his entire length slipping through your soaked pussy lips until his breeders balls tap at your hole. “g-god… think you’re gonna make me cum…g-gonna make me…fuuuck!” he chants, eyes snapping open to capture your gaze.

the tail end of his words form a soft symphony of whines and animalistic chirps, like music to your ears. “i want you to cum, you’d be so pretty cumming against me, katsuki…” you continue to taunt him, following his movement by cheekily driving your fluttering entrance down against his bulbous cockhead — trembling at its thick diameter. you still have no idea how it’ll fit. “give it to me.”

you take his massive paw in your tiny hand, hooking his claw onto the bosom of your dress with trusting eyes. the sound of wet material ripping echoes about the bathroom, the blond having torn right through the damp front of what you wear. you slump forward next, pebbled nipples brushing pleasurably over katauki’s fluffy toned chest. his fur is slick and clings to the water droplets on your glistening skin — especially with your bodies submerged under the lukewarm water. 

“you… y’don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” bakugou slurs deeply, grinding the tip of his dick against the ring of muscle at your entrance as you glaze his painfully with sweet the honey nectar dripping from your cunt. he’s so close he can practically taste it, all he needs is one little push. so you take his hand, leading him into a mistified fog of love and lust — reaching up, you drag a tender finger over the dark black horns that spiral from between roots of sun kissed blonde hair and fur, revelling in the way katsuki’s breath hitches. “d-don’t… they’re fuckin’ sensitive…”

all you do is hum in response, practically pressing your chest to the beast’s face as you learn further up and teasingly drag the length of your tongue over one scaled black appendage, taking the second horn between your wet, pruney fingers to jerk it like you would his cock. “they feel good when i touch them?” there’s a certain husk to your voice that puts the man on edge beneath you, colourful language littering his tongue, spurts of precum clinging to the insides of your folds. “what if i…?”

your hot, warm mouth encapsulates the very tip of his horn and your cheeks hollow out so that you have the room to suck him down your throat — mindful of its jagged surface. you feel so full and in all the best ways, the thickness of his horn causing a swell in your throat. his bright red tip, feverishly leaking precum, just barely bullying its way past the tight ring of your entrance, tapping against your sticky pussy even under water. you’re drooling from every hole, every place that you could possibly be fucked in and it’s all for him — willingly sucking him down… its for him.

“fuckin’ hell… sweetness, please. when ya touch me like that ‘m gonna—“ that's what makes you swallow around the beast as his sensitive horn presses against your uvula, spit pouring out against it. 

even as his eyes disappear into his dark skull at the feeling , katsuki drools over you as though you’re a prime cut of meat — a claw drifting up from the fat at your waist to the now naked and pliant mounds of flesh at your chest. he squeezes your breasts tightly in his monstrous palm, each point of each claw digging into your skin until electric dopamine crackles quickly across your synapses — dizzying your brain and ability to function. his grip is so sinfully tight that it’s enough to draw blood, crimson rose petals inking their way between the valley of your breasts and blowing on the surface of the water filling in the tub.  

you don’t stop kissing and sucking on his horn — tasting the ash between each scale, like firewood. he doesn’t stop rutting against your sex, sloshing sounds fluttering through the air. it’s your moan around him that sets the beast off, choked and spluttered; the sweet symphony guiding bakugou through the rough terrains of his high like he’d done so for you outside. static erupts over his brain and numbs all four of his limbs while a white as bright as the evening’s snowfall flashes behind hazy red eyes. his blonde head of hair drops weightily to your damp shoulder; hips stumbling against your cunt, as thick ropes of his early release hit your clit underwater.

with a prideful your lips pull off of his horn, listening happily to his washy, uneven mewls. even though he hadn’t been ready to cum just yet, it was by no means a small orgasm. katsuki’s load is heavy, still coming in hot, viscous waves as you suddenly slip down on his throbbing shaft — using the mix of water and orgasm as lube to help you with his size. “t-takin’ me all at once… still cummin’,” bakugou gasps like a fish out of water, pupils blown wide as the black in his eye eclipses the red. “you gotta be careful… ‘m big, sweetness. don’t wanna hurt you.” 

katsuki bakugou, the beast, is perfect. you know that now, whether it’s because your brain is fucked up with sex crazed hormones or because you genuinely do care for him deep down. either way, you think that he’s perfect, and you want him every way. his cock stretching your tight heat has you delirious, you think the burn of his size might even kill you as it pulses in your lower belly.  

“w-what makes you think you might hurt me?” you drawl and your sopping walls accept every inch of him with ease, reminding him of how lucky he is to have you. to be able to fuck you. it’s almost as if you’re made specifically for the beast — wandering into his castle with intention. not just for your father. 

there’ll never be another beauty like you and he’ll never be able to let you go after this. 

you ooze viscous nectar against katsuki, blossoming for him like a flower made for the coldest of winters while he presses into you — deeper and deeper. until you’re pelvis to pelvis in the warm tub. “‘cause...you’re so small compared to me, sweetness,” he explains over the lump in his throat — a growl escaping from behind his larger, menacing set of teeth. “such a fuckin’ dainty…pretty… little thing. fuck… if we do this i ain’t sure i’ll be able to hold back.”

lowering your hips and clenching hard, you lock the blonde into your heat selfishly, even though your legs are about to give out and you feel faint from taking the entirety of him in one go. “but that shouldn’t stop you from having your way with me, beast.” you murmur. “i don’t want you to hold back. you’re perfect and i want you just the way you are,” taking his paw in your palm, you draw it back to the claw marks struck lovingly against your chest — letting him feel the strong beat of your heart between your breasts. “my heart is racing, bakugou,” you croon and nuzzle your nose against his cutely, earning a light purr from the man beneath you. “i think… i think you make me feel this way.” your heart has never fluttered for someone like this before, not for yo shindou or any other man back home. you feel so small and safe with katsuki, even if he seems scary on the outside — you know that he’s tender and always means well.

that’s all the permission katsuki needs, really. hearing you tell him that you want him, even if it’s in his most carnal and instinctive way, is the same as hearing the magic word to him. with revitalised motivation, the blonde beast plants his feet against the smooth base of the tub and thrusts all the way into you with one fluid motion — hips flush against your fleshy ass and bottoming out in your weeping pussy. each movement is easily guided by his previous release, forming a foamy white ring at your entrance. he wraps a hand around the back of your head, claws massaging your scalp to soothe the cloying cries caused by the new angle as he keeps you pinned to his body.

bakugou relishes in the warmth of your syrupy walls clenching tightly around his bricked up length but manages to find strength in pulling from your selfish slicked up hole to set a slow, calculated pace to the way he bucks into you — dragging his monstrous girth along your ribbed walls and pleasure points. the utter power behind his hips quickly have water splattering over the edge of the bathtub and tear through babyish yelps escaping from between your cherry-bitten lips. the beast takes control of your body like a king or a prince with a strict rein over land. ruling over every thought once rattling around in your mind.

your shaking hands take hold of sun-kissed tooth’s of his fur, ones that muffle your little laments and whines as katsuki fucks you down on his shaft — taking you to the high heavens and back. cloud nine just within your reach. oxygen eludes you, leaving your lungs vacant and struggling to keep up with everything the beast gives you — carving a pathway for his big seedy cock against your insides with every feverish buck of his hips into yours. “feels…feels s’good!” you shriek desperately, trying your best match his rhythm. “so deep, makin’ me feel so full!”

“already? haven’t even given you a proper load yet,” bakugou chuckles between condescending moans, drunk on the way it feels when he stretches you out around him the deeper he goes, poor pussy changing to accommodate his breath-taking size and whatever love he has to give you. as a result, the beast fills you until you’re practically a glass overflowing with love and pleasure. “could plug you full with dick ‘n cum, ‘n it still wouldn’t be enough for you. would it?” 

using a free hand, the blonde drags his claws grip down to your fleshy ass and spreads your cheeks apart, growling as the webs of slick tying them together break over his fingers — dampening them just as much as the water from the bath. his grip allows him to bully himself further into your molten core, moulding you perfectly up and down on his cock. “love how you feel around me, sweetness,” the praise smooths over your brain, wiping it of any feedback you have for the blonde and all you can do is gargle passionately in ecstasy. “don’t think i deserve to… fuck a pretty girl this tight…”

you squeeze around katsuki where your words fail you, juices dripping down his length into the bath nastily until it bathes his breeders balls as they clap against the curve of your ass repeatedly — heavy and full of a second load of cum just for you. even though he pushes and smears the first against pleasure spots dotted along your velvety walls. shaking your head, face hidden in water-logged fur, “y-you’re the only one who deserves to fuck me, katsuki, have this tight pussy— oh!” the tail end of your words come out as choked, lost to the echoey bathroom and splashing water as bakugou sinks his fangs into your bare shoulder.

he bites you, not only to mark you and taste the sheen of saltine sweat on your skin, but to pacify himself — help him cope with each flutter of your wet pussy and angelic simper. a delectable pain blossoms underneath the surface of your skin, and you weave your nimble fingers into bakugou’s fur to keep him in place, letting him bite you hard enough to draw blood. wounding you just as much as he had been wounded. 

ruining the bath with more than just sweat, juices and cum.

bakugou fucks you like he loves you, like he’s been waiting thousands of years to pour locked-away affections from his soul into yours. limbs slip and slide against the walls of the tub, filling the homing air and layering over the vulnerability lying in it. you’re sure you’d see this hidden truth in his vermillion eyes if you had the strength to look up from his chest too.

“keep talkin’ to me like that, swear i’ll ruin you ‘n this pussy for everyone. myself… the next man that has you,” bakugou growls as feral as the animal he’s been turned into. even with his body pressed hotly against yours, joined at your sticky sexes while you’re chest to chest ( sensitive nipples brushing each other’s), he still can’t see how much of you he owns. neediness and yearning spark between your compressed bodies as they dance together underwater, skin slapping on skin and water spilling everywhere. “she’ll never be able t’forget the way i make her fuckin’ feel…”

“oh god, please. please—“ you feel like you’re in the verge of tears, overwhelmed by everything that is the beast. that makes up katsuki bakugou. his size and thickness drive you insane, how he feels thrusting into your gummy walls and meeting the hilt sends you up a wall. not to mention the scent of his body, his fur, permeating your skin possessively and sinking into your pores. “don’t want anyone else after you, wanna have you inside of me forever. only you inside. just so pretty when you’re fucking me, katsuki…” you admit through earnest and shaky hiccups. 

despite rambling, your words feeling tacky on your tongue like someone’s stuffed your mouth with cotton, katsuki seems to finally get the hint. he makes you feel this way, he makes you see stars, he’s the one that you want — fully and undeniably. without a care in the world for how he looks. if that were the case, you wouldn’t be letting him rapidly rock his hips into you with lewd squelching sounds emanating from your ravaged pussy. you wouldn’t bounce up and down on his aching dick to chase him with a spasming, slippery hole when he just about pulled out of you, losing control of the movements of his hips — spreading the arousal beading on his cockhead against your insides.

“f-fuck… you’re gonna be the death of me…”  

the edge of the beast’s words develop a sharp shakiness to them, a sheen of sweat painted over your bodies from both the humidity in the bathroom and the exertion of your activities. you were living for the burn his fat girth created as it pushed its way past your puckered hole every time he jutted upwards or you weakly fucked down — bakugou knew you wanted more and he’d give it to you too. 

“y-you’re prettier. especially when i’m the one fuckin’ you,” bakugou whimpers seraphically, using his strong hand on your wet ass to lift and drop you in his milky white dick — not caring about the water that got everywhere, only focusing on matching you to his length jackhammering in and out of your pathetically creamy pussy. you spasm, keeping him a prisoner in your cunt while he spews copious amounts of precum inside of you and into the tub — coaxing a fresh wave of blistering hot essence out of you. 

all of a sudden, the beast uses his brute strength to  shift your positions with his cock still nestled within you and your back splashes against the remaining water in the tub — dampening your back and the crown of your hair. katsuki doesn’t let you sink too far back into the water, instead, holding you up by the far at waist, large paw curling around it entirely. “see that? my cock bulging in your tummy. s’all me, sweetness. will only ever be me. you’re mine, all fuckin’ mine for all of time.” he whispers above you lecherously, hazy vermillion gaze floating like driftwood down to your soft stomach. your eyes follow his, breath caught in your throat at the sight,  the shape of him outlined there as he pounds into your g-spot lovingly, dotting your eyes with constellations. “hold onto me, sweetness. gonna make us cum.” 

quickly, you wrap your ankles around the smallest part of the beast’s waist — cunt unlocking and locking around the curve of his dick at random with the new position. choking the precum out of him, opaque fat drops pearling at the slit every time katsuki’s hips lunge forward powerfully. “i love you,” tears begin to brew in your glassy eyes and gather in your lashes like dew drops on a leaf, streaming down the hot apples of your cheeks as you become overwhelmed with emotion. you’re not sure if you cry because of dopamine, lust and happy hormones jolting from your brain to the tips of your toes or because of the way katsuki slots his body against yours — drowns you in everything that is him. 

either way it doesn’t matter, because you don’t know what you’d do if the beast stopped loving you like this. making love to you with every push of his cockhead against sluice walls, every swipe of his tongue over your swollen lips and every scratch of his claws against your supple body. 

“i love you,” you repeat, the taste of your orgasm rushing over the horizon as you claw desperately for something, anything to ground you. you wriggle and write underneath him, sending more water out of the tub, stomach twisted in delightful knots and only manage to steady yourself by grasping bakugou’s thick black horns above you. “i want to be yours forever…b-because you’re perfect ‘n feel so good. ‘n no one will care for me like you do…”

“‘hmyfuckingods…shit!” bakugou swoops down to lick curse words into your impassioned, temperate mouth, weakened by your warm touch around his sensitive horns and your own words mewled out like a promise to the cursed monster of a prince. watching the beast, your beast, break above you hardly soothes your wrecked insides — honeyed juices drooling down your thighs, dripping into the tub in a viscous lava flow each time he pumps into you. parting between kisses and through your wet lashes, you witness the way sweat drips from his hairline and fur, the way his dark brows are furrowed in concentration ( focused on bringing you to the top of your peak ) and how his arms flex in order to drag your pulsating pussy up to meet his thick cock — skin smacking and breath mingling in the musky air. 

his golden fur glistens under warm candle light and if you looked close enough, you could spot the twinge of pink at katsuki’s cheeks from his exertion. he’s beautiful on top of you, fucking you, that you’d be happy drown here in this bathtub if it meant he was the last thing you ever got to see. “tell me how much you want me,” bakugou snarls against your swollen lips, spouting the covetously loaded words against your strawberry tongue before he slopping kisses you again — teeth clashing with yours, incisors nipping your bottom lip until it’s bloody while he maps out the taste of sex in your mouth. 

as if to coach an answer out of you,  his knuckle slips between your connected bodies to toy with your throbbing clit — being mindful of his claws, not wanting to cause you any pain when you’re so close to reaching your high. it’s hard for you to speak when his cock slips into you like magic and attacks your throat with a bounty of love bites in purply-blues. his intensity washes over you in waves, scorching you and soothing you all at once. over all the harsh moments once shared between you.

instinctively you squeeze at his horns and search for words, but bakugou answers for you — hardly peeling away from your, damp hot skin while he pulses to life inside of you. “cause i want you. want you so fuckin’ bad that it burns me. hurts me.” snarls and pushes his creamy cock as deep and as far as it can go, practically splitting you open, spreading your thighs wide ( as wide as the tub will allow ) to make room for his wide frame and hips between them. you can just tell how much he wants you, how it tears him apart pieces you back together, by the way he grinds against you — fluffy pelvis brushing against your puffy clit. with the hope to push you over the edge. “gods… you make me wanna lose it…” 

the beast picks up a pace and a thick strand of your mixed arousals swings between your bodies where the blonde beast plugs your spasming hole, the milky liquid finding purchase on your inner thighs and the veins that spiral down his shaft. the both of you start to lose it together, water slipping and sliding everywhere as bakugou moves to sit on his haunches, all-encompassing grip on your waist lifting you from the shallow depth of the tub to keep you on his cock — pussy squelching over his swollen and red shaft. 

in response, your back bows away from the bottom of the tub until you’re chest to chest once more and your lips part with “i want you, i want you, i want you! n-no one else!” you chant loudly, the words nearly lost over the sounds of the beast passionately slamming into you over and o er again. “k-katsuki! think i’m gonna… so close—! cumming—!” 

using two knuckles, bakugou pinches your clit between them and sends you hurtling over the edge of ecstasy. that’s all it takes, him purring to you as white flashes behind your glassy eyes. you squirt hard against him, into the tub, clear liquid spurting from your ravaged sex and covering the beast’s fur in a messy layer of your release. there’s so much of it, that it nearly forces his cock from your quivering hole — but he can’t bare to be away from you, to waste his own orgasm. for the damn in the beast’s lower belly breaks as well; an earth shattering high comes crashing down on him and forces his bulking furry frame to collapse over yours — hips stuttering and water rushing out of the bath.

katsuki tucks his burning face into your neck one final time. his nostrils flare and chest heaves as he cums with an frightening roar, arms encircling your head to keep you still and pinned beneath him while katsuki unapologetically ruts into your ruined heat; dragging his bulbous cockhead deliciously against your silken walls as his seed pours into you in a large, unapologetic amount. potent and thick white floods your womb, cloying against the ribbed parts of your pussy.  so much so, that you feel your tummy bulge even as some of it runs down your slit and between your ass cheeks — into the tub below.

neither of you move, completely weak and shaky in one another’s embrace — limbs heavy from water that clings to bakugou’s fur and your skin. if you could speak and your ears were no longer ringing from your world ending high, you’d tell the beast that you love him. that you care about him. that you never want to leave him.

if his state was any better than yours, you’re sure he’d do the same.

but for now, you grasp onto his wet back and rake your hands through the masses of wet golden fur to tug bakugou, the cursed beast, closer to you. never letting him go. pulling him in to press a lasting kiss into his damp, muzzle. hoping your subtle affections will make do instead.

the end.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 | 𝐉.𝐘𝐇 ♡

Day Sixteen - Fae/Orc ft. Size Kink

【Synopsis】 : Yunho was a myth amongst men. Yet here he stood, ready to protect you and take you away from the cruel life you lead... Only catch is you have to give him something in return...your hand in marriage.

『Word count』 : 7.78k

-> Genre: Smut. Fantasy. Angst.

Pairing: Chief!Orc!Yunho x Princess!Fae!Reader

[Warnings] : Swearing. Blood. Gore. Reader is heavily conflicted with herself and was abused by her family. Fighting. Dry humping. Yelling. Crying. Cocky Yunho. Kinda mean Yunho at the start. Self hatred. Drooling. Mocking. Pet names. Dirty talking. Multiple orgasms. Unprotected sex.

Note: I want to state that, for the most part, this can be read as dub-con. But I want to assure you that nothing terrible happens in this story. I don't want to spoil anything, but please read this with caution. If anything in the warnings triggers you, please, for your sake and mine, do not read this fanfiction.

Also, I'm really proud of this, and I definitely enjoyed writing this type of genre. So please give it all the love ♡♡

Networks: @k-vanity @wonderlandnet @illusionnet @cromernet

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober list | Tip Jar ♡

Storm Caller: A fierce warrior and saviour of the world. He is the chief of one of the largest orc clans there have ever been. Most knew him as cruel, dangerous, and unforgiving. His people had raided village after village, and now here he was directing his beastly men to capture any humans, Elvin and Fae, they could find. But what no one knew was that he was looking for someone in particular, a sweet little fae to be his chieftess.

A princess to be exact.

There were rows and rows of cages. Humans and fae alike chained and scared. No one moved, not even much of a peep as the orc chief walked past each and every one of the enclosures. It was only when he got to your cage that he stopped. His eyes fell onto your shaking figure in nothing but tatted rags. His lips curled into an evil smirk.

You noticed the presence in front of you, shuffling yourself until your back hit the cold wall behind you. You gulp with a dry mouth, fear crackling down your body. Storm caller chuckled, walking right up to the bars of the cage, his eyes never leaving you. The other orcs quickly parted to make way for their leader, letting the chief get the perfect view of his reward. "And who might you be, little one?"

Storm caller knew who you were. In fact, you were the exact Fae he had been searching for. But he loved the way you shifted under his gaze; he couldn't help himself. Your eyes raked over the orc, seeing his armour. His deep green skin was a stark contrast to the bloodied metal.

"I'm the Fae princess of Ellegard." Your words were small, barely a whisper, even though you tried to sound authoritative. The orc whistled to the guard, indicating for the cage to be opened, which the other orc followed suit swiftly. He stepped into the cage, towering over you with his huge figure, his smug smile hiding a bit of concern but never faltered from its sinisterness.

"A fae princess? My, my, how. Delicate." His deep voice made you gulp with a strange tingle in your gut, causing your wings to shiver slightly. His head tilted at the sight, his eyes darkening. "Stand."

You listened, standing tall on your shaky limbs. You were covered in dirt, even your wings stained with grime. His thick hand came up to gently brush along your appendage dusting off some of the muck, watching the sparkle move along his fingers as he did. "Such pretty things... it would be a shame if they were to break."

You gasp, taking a step back, almost falling, but his hand comes to grab your waist quickly, holding you up. "No, please. I can't live without my wings."

He smirked again as he heard your sweet little gasp. His hand tightens on your waist while the other continues to run along the veins of your sheer appendages. "I could easily rip them off you if I wanted to. You're at my mercy, little princess."

Your hand comes up to brush against his chest, feeling the cold metal under your small hand. A tear pricked the corner of your eye as you watched him with a pleading gaze while he continued to touch you. "P-please. Don't hurt me."

He pouted mockingly as he carefully wiped the tear away with his thumb. For an orc, he was extremely gentle—almost caring. "Awe, don't cry. I have no intention of hurting you. All you will be doing is proving yourself to me."

"P-proving?" You finally meet his gaze, staring deep into his pitch-black eyes. His smile grows as he nods, loosening his grip on you. He walks back over to the bars of the cage, running a finger along the rust.

"Yes, prove yourself. Prove that you're worthy of being my Cheiftess. That you're strong enough to be by my side and rule my clan with me." He turns back around with a determined look. An almost crazed gaze in his eyes.

You stare at him with shock, covering your mouth with your hand to mumble, "Chieftess!? You want to take me as a wife!"

He chuckled, a deep, guttural sound. "That's right. I've been looking for someone to be my wife, someone to rule beside me and bear my children. And you, little princess, have caught my eye."

You looked towards the locked door and noticed you were completely alone. All the orc guards had left you alone with him... You gulped, "But... you're an orc, and I'm a fae..." Your eyes briefly wander down to the cloth that hides his lower half. "We are of different sizes..."

He follows your gaze before letting out a low, amused laugh. "Ah, yes. The size difference. That doesn't matter, little one. I'm certain we can make it work."

You swayed a little from side to side, unsure of what to say. Or what to do. Your mind was all over the place, from the war only breaking out a moon ago to laying awake in a Dungeon, crying yourself to sleep while begging for death to take you away. You had no idea who had raided your home, only hearing whispers from others that the man was cruel and beastly. You still would have never thought it would be him. The beast of myth. The creature you read about in text. Jeong Yunho... the Storm caller. The great change.

Yunho was right next to you when you shook the fog from your eyes. He was so close to the point that you could feel the heat of his body once again. His voice dropped to a low, sultry tone. "Are you afraid, princess? Afraid of what I might do to you? Or what I might make you do?"

Your eyes widened, stuttering, "I... I don't know."

He chuckles, his hand reaching up to gently caress your cheek. "Well, I'm gonna take that as a yes. So don't worry, you're pretty little head. I'm gonna take good care of you." His touch was so gentle, so comfortable. You couldn't help but feel completely conflicted by his actions and his words. Never in your life would you ever think someone would speak so softly towards you. Calling you such sweet names. Actually look at you instead of through you... And it also happened to be by enemy number one.

From the destruction of your home and the increasing number of orcs that would outweigh your species. Deep down, you knew there was no other choice than to play along until you could escape and find your family. So you nod slowly to him, accepting his offer.

He smiles, his hand moving from your cheek to your chin, gently tilting your head up to look at him. "Good girl. You're a fast learner. I like that. Now, let's get you out of this cage, shall we?"

You nod again, choosing to stay silent for the moment. He simply grins, his eyes glistening with a mix of lust and excitement as he reaches into his pocket to pull out a key. He moves from your body to unlock the cage door before reaching his hand out for you to take. "You're mine now, princess, and I intend to make sure you never forget it."

You yelp as he grabs your wrist, pulling you snugly against him. The grip was firm but not painful. There was tenderness hidden beneath. "Now, let's get you cleaned up. You're a mess, princess."

You follow him close, eyeing where everything is. Fires burning, tents set up everywhere. Your home was as good as gone. And you didn't know how to feel about it. Anger? Joy? The looming question was if your parents—the king and queen—were even still alive. He led you through the back end of the camp, his hands still wrapped around your wrist as he guided you into a huge tent. He pushes the flap aside as he leads you inside, the interior of the tent dimly lit by a few lanterns hanging from the ceiling.

The tent is spacious, with a large couch-like bed on the left side with a few chairs and tables scattered around the edge. There was also a small fire pit in the middle of the tent, and a few animal pelts laid out on the floor around it. "Welcome to my quarters, princess. You'll be staying here for now until we can go home."

"Home..." You whispered with a gulp as you held your stomach. The large orc noticed your nervous expression. He gave you a gentle, toothy smile, eyes raking over your shaky body.

"You look scared, princess. Don't worry, I won't bite," he leans down to whisper in your ear, "much."

Your eyes widen as you look around the room, slowly trying to free your hands from his tight grip. Panic suddenly set in. The sudden need to run was becoming increasingly prominent.

He noticed you trying to free your hands, so he tightened his grip, pulling you closer to him. "Ah ah ah, no escaping, princess. You're mine now, remember? You can't go anywhere without my permission."

You felt a nerve snap. "Yes, I'm aware of that." You speak bluntly. "I just wish to have my hands free." You look at him with a squinted expression, annoyance lingering in your tone. "I will not flee. I promise."

He eyes you for a moment, studying your face before finally relentingly, releasing your wrists. "Very well, princess. But remember, you're still my prisoner. You do as I say when I say it. Understood?"

You rub your red-pained wrists as you sigh, "I understand."

He smiles, satisfied with your response. Walking over to a large chest, he opens it to pull out a simple sheer sleep-like dress. "Put this on. It'll be more comfortable than those filthy rags you're wearing."

You gaze upon the fabric he's holding, taking it slowly from him. The silk was soft, almost like royal Elvin. It was only when you held it against your frame that you noticed. This is mine!? Your eyes widened, snapping back up to see his smug face, almost as if he had read your mind. No words were exchanged, though, only longing looks and thickening tension. That was until you spoke softly, "C-could you... Turn around while I change."

Yunho simply raised a brow at your request. He eyes your figure one last time before complying with your words, turning around with arms tightly crossed. "There, happy now, Princess?"

You couldn't help but sigh lightly, feeling like you could breathe again. No longer under his strong gaze. "Yes, I am." It was a quick response, but he could hear the sweetness in your tone, making him aware there was a smile on your delicate features.

Staring at his armour-covered back, you can finally take in the detail on the metal. The flower design on the outer lining. The cloth wrapped around his waist was thick leather, most likely the skin of a dragon. You had an expectation in your head from the books, but actually seeing him in person was a different story. You couldn't seem to shake the tingle in your gut the moment you saw him. Confliction raiding your mind. A part of your brain was overjoyed; he was the one who captured you, and the other was screaming that orcs are nothing but beasts. You could hear your mother screaming at you, calling you tainted for even thinking such a beast could be an equal to your own species.

But then again, no one was equal to Fae. She hated other creatures, considering all of them as slaves or peasants. Your father would even strike you if you ever tried to suggest otherwise. But your feelings did not matter. The longing did not matter. Nothing did. Only your parents mattered. Only the kingdom mattered. You had a duty, and you had to follow it. Otherwise, you are unclean.

Yunho's low chuckle caught you out of your thoughts—that you hadn't even noticed you slipped into. His head shook, still facing away from you. "You're a shy princess. I have to admit it's adorable. But you need to hurry up, little one. I don't have a lot of time."

You sporadically look around the room in search of the exit. Once spotting it, without another thought, you jump into flight, weaving towards it. But as you reached for the slit in the tent, Yunho turned around just in time to see what you had planned. Surprise painted his expression as he lunged forward, grabbing you by the waist before rotating you so he could hold you flush against his chest.

"Oh no, you don't, princess. You're not going anywhere." His voice was right in your ear as you thrashed against him, flapping your wings with all the strength you could muster.

He grins, clearly enjoying your attempts to escape. Holding you tightly against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like a vice grip. But from the powerful wind of your wings, he lost his balance, falling back onto the couch with a grunt. "Stop struggling, princess. You're only making it harder for yourself."

You didn't listen; your body beginning to panic, but not because of being held by him. Your whole life had crumbled in one night. You felt guilty and refused to admit that you were happy about it. You try to wiggle off him, your hand hitting his armour. Your legs fell on either side of his waist, making you fall more snugly against him. He let out a low growl, feeling you rub against him in a way that sends shivers down his spine. He tightens his grip on you even more, his hands roaming over your body, finding the base of your wings. "I said, stop struggling, little one. You're only making this more fun for me."

Your wings had stopped their flapping, but your hips continued to buck. He let out a sharp gasp, his head tilting back slightly, feeling your little frame struggle against him. Your clothed pussy was rubbing against his growing cock so nicely, he couldn't help himself from feeling more and more aroused with each passing breath. "Oh, princess... you're playing with fire now."

He used the hand that was at the base of your wings to snake up to grab a fist full of your hair, tugging you back, forcing you to look up at him. "You're feisty, you know that."

There was rage clouding your judgement, all the pent-up aggression you had bottled up for years, finally overspilling, but you were yelling at the wrong person, "I will never listen! Never submit. I didn't ask for any of this!" You finally settled, but only to hit him against his metal-covered chest.

"I have had people try to mould me into their perfect tool. But they had all failed. I will never listen." You hit him again, your knuckles starting to redden. "I'm not your perfect little daughter. I will never be pure enough for you." Tears rolled down your red, flustered cheeks, your knuckles bloody and bruised. You finally stopped, sobbing quietly while your forehead fell against his chest.

His expression becomes unreadable as he watches your little outburst. He had been told by one of his informants that you were being abused by your family, but he didn't expect you to be so...broken. He couldn't help but feel the desire to slaughter everyone who had hurt you. His grip on your hair loosened. "You do not have to be perfect for me..." He lifted up your face to wipe your tears as he said your name for the first time tonight. 

Your face was inches from his, and you hadn't realised until the cool breeze brushed over your shoulder that while struggling, one of his claws must have torn the strap to your shirt, exposing your soft skin slightly. "Looks like your clothes are getting a little torn up, princess. I guess I got a little too rough with you during our struggle."

You blushed, looking away from him. "Then unhand me." Even though you tried to speak firmly, you no longer made an effort to move, feeling like all your adrenaline had washed away. You had become vulnerable in front of the enemy... Maybe your mother was right. You were simply just useless.

He gave out a lowly chuckle, fully loosening his grip on you. His hand rested on your hip while the other ran a finger along your exposed flesh. "And why should I, baby? I think I quite like having you in my arms."

"You cannot hold me in your arms forever." You huff, placing both my hands on his strong chest, moving to sit completely straight, staring up at him.

"Maybe not forever, but for now, I shall hold you. And I'm going to enjoy every moment of it." He smirks as he pulls you closer to him. You lean back in annoyance, taking in his whole demeanour. Your arms cross over your chest, pushing your breasts up, making more cleavage pop out the top of your rags. You notice his eyes flicker down to your chest, lingering on the plump flesh for a moment before snapping his stare back up to your face. "You poor sweet thing. Why would anyone ever want to hurt you..."

You were stunned by his words, feeling your heart race at his softness. Noticing your shocked silence, Yunho had to smile brightly, his tusks being shown off proudly in the grin. "You are too cute. And I bet you'd look even cuter under me."

You growled, almost sounding like an angry cat at his inappropriate remark. You couldn't lie to yourself though, knowing just how much his words affected you. But he didn't need to know that. He chuckled nonetheless, clearly amused by the noise that left your lips. He had to stroke your hair, which was surprisingly gentle as he whispered, "You're even cute when you're angry, princess."

You go to move off him again, feeling his hands loose on your frame, but when you shifted you felt your lower half rub against his half-hard cock, making you suddenly deathly aware of the situation you had gotten yourself into. You froze. "..I..."

Yunho let out a deep grumble, bucking his hips lightly while his hands tightened once again on your hips, stilling you. "You're playing with fire again. Keep doing that, and I won't be able to control what happens next."

Your gaze flutters towards what lies beneath you, seeing the large outline under the cloth and leather he is wearing. He's huge... You gulp. The orc seemingly noticed your eyes travel down, making him smirk with pride. "See something you like, Princess?" He taunts.

Snapping your head back up, you look around the room with brightened red cheeks, trying to calm your racing heart rate. "N-no..."

He growled, his smirk growing wider. "You're a terrible liar. The look on your face says everything. You were staring at my cock, weren't you, princess?"

You stutter, feeling yourself wanting to crumble into a ball and hide forever. "I don't know what you are talking about..."

Yunho grabs your chin, forcing you to look back at him. His deep, almost pitch-black eyes bore holes into your own as he read your expression. You couldn't help but clench around nothing, a pulse shifting through your cunt. He could feel every movement, making him groan while his cock twitched in response. He had to pull you closer, his hand exploring your figure. "By the gods, you drive me crazy, princess."

"Good." You poke your tongue out like some child throwing a tantrum. But Yunho was quick, snatching your tongue between his fingers. He gripped your wet appendage firmly but not too painfully.

"Careful now. You've been testing my patience all night. If you keep this up, I will punish you, darling." Your eyes widen at his action, your body shaking at the new nickname. Your mouth has to open more as his thumb pushes against your tongue, watching it create a bundle of saliva which started to leak out onto your chin and his hand. His eyes hollow with growing desire as he stares at the drool, watching it drip onto your lap. "You look so pretty like this, princess. All messy and helpless. I could do anything I want to you right now, and you wouldn't be able to stop me."

Your wings flap in annoyance as a high-pitched noise leaves your throat. His grip on your tongue tightens slightly as he mocks, "Oh, don't give me that look, princess. You brought this on yourself. You were being a brat, and now you're paying the price."

You let out a huff through your nose, mimicking the way Orc's huff when they are displeased. That made Yunho raise his brow, but then you ground your hips against him, causing his fingers to loosen on your tongue. He looked at you with a mix of surprise and lust in his eyes, watching you pull away from his grip. "Fuck you have no idea how badly I want to lose control."

It was like the world had stopped, like nothing mattered anymore. And for the first time, the power was in your hands. You weren't a doll to be dressed up and manipulated by others. You weren't a toy to be thrown around and forgotten the next. You had power and wanted to see what you could do with it. "If you want to lose control so badly, Why don't you?"

His grunt was animalistic, rumbling up his throat, his eyes narrowing even more at the challenge you gifted him. "You're asking for it, darling. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Before you could let out any snarky reply, the large orc tipped you back until you were both falling towards the floor. He held onto you tightly, his one hand bracing your head while the other held your waist, easily manhandling you onto the soft pelts that lay spread on the floor by the fire. A small 'oof' left your lips as you watched Yunho above you with pure surprise. His grin was toothy, his huge frame caging you snuggly. "You look so good like this, darling. Laying here, at my mercy. You have no idea what thoughts are running through my mind right now."

You rolled your eyes without a thought, wiggling slightly with a small pout. This caused him to chuckle, using one of his hands to grip your chin again, but this time squishing your cheeks together. "Oh, you think you're so tough, princess? Trying to act like you're not enjoying yourself right now. But I know deep down. This is all you've ever wanted. Like you said, you'll never be pure for your family. For your kingdom. So why not just fully commit to it?"

You gulp, feeling your pointed ears redden as your gaze never left his. He was right. You both knew it. You had dreams of being swept away. Having the saviour come to rescue you from your royal prison. But a part of you—the part that still is her family's little princess—wanted to stay, prove you were pure enough. Make your family proud. It was pitiful, really.

"Come on, darling? I can see the effect I have on you. Your ears and face, are all red and flushed. Your hips are bucking at every movement. The staggered pants and lust-filled eyes. You're enjoying this. You like being pinned down by a big, strong orc like me."

You shook your head no, and you don't even know why. Stop fighting, you screamed to yourself. Your parents never loved you. No one ever looked at you. But Yunho...he was looking at you and not just as a prize to be won or a trophy to be left on a stand. He looked at you like you were real. Like you deserved attention. Like you were the only thing left in this god-forsaken realm.

His expression was unreadable again, his hand moving from your chin to your hair, stroking the strands gently with a sigh. "You're a terrible liar. Must I repeat that? I can see right through you. Why must you be too stubborn to admit it?"

"I..." You stop yourself, watching his gaze never leave your own. His hand that sat on your waist, moved delicately upwards, slowly sliding along your body, feeling the tattered rags beneath the pads of his fingers.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "I just need a yes, and I can make anything you've ever dreamt of come true. You're mine now, and I'm gonna make sure you never forget." Your whole body was shaking as he continued to move his hand along your figure. His touch is gentle but possessive at the same time.

"P-please..." You whisper, your eyes fluttering closed, your body giving in to temptation. He moves his mouth to your neck, his breath tickling your skin, but he doesn't inch closer.

"That's not a yes, darling." He grunts, his other hand moving from your hip to your thigh, pushing them open gently, holding you in place as he continues to explore your body. He watches the way your brows scrunch and your eye seal shut. The way your hips beg for friction and your mouth parts, desperate for another. But he still needed to hear you say it. He needs that single word to leave your lips.

A long, deep sigh left your lungs, but no matter how hard you tried, the word you needed didn't come out. It was like someone had held your mouth closed or taken the word from your vocabulary. And then you had an idea. Opening your eyes, you are met with Yunho's soft gaze. Storm caller was gone from his expression, leaving only him. "...Mok..." [yes]

Yunho froze, staring down at you with narrowed eyes. He couldn't believe what he had heard. You...his delicate little fae, speaking Orcish. He smiled toothly, closing the gap between his lips, latching his tongue on the hot skin of your neck. He kissed and nibbled at your jugular, his hand on your thigh gently stroking the soft skin. You spread your legs without much control, feeling yourself finally relax under him. He chuckles, his hand moving to rest on the inside of your thigh, his fingers gently tracing circles on your skin that was close to your dripping core. "That's it, Darling. Open up for me. Let me see all of you."

He takes in the way your body finally relaxes, seeing all your defences slowly wash away. His lips travel along your collarbone, where he starts to place kisses and gentle nibbles, feeling the way your body reacts to his touch. Your eyes are completely shut now while your hands unclenched from being fists. Your legs spread further, feeling the cloth that was covering your lower half now riding up your figure ever so slightly. His hand moved higher up your thigh, his fingers tracing along the hem of the fabric covering you, teasing the cotton. He pulls back slightly, his eyes roaming over your body as he takes in the sight of you spread out beneath him.

"You never need to have fear ever again..." He whispers against your skin, hearing you moan as his hand moves even higher up your plump flesh, his fingers brushing against the edge of your panties. "...Bin mog g'thazag cha.." [I will protect you.]

You felt tears run down your face as you heard his sweet words in his native tongue. The feeling of his fingers on your clothed cunt makes your hips buck and a whimper to leave your trembling mouth. He watches as your hips buck and you let out a whimper, his eyes darkening with desire. He leans down to whisper in your ear again, "So responsive, Darling. You're so sensitive. I can feel how much you want me, even through your wet panties." You feel him pull your panties to the side seeing your soaked pussy in his full. He swore he almost busted a nut right then and there. He couldn't feel but have a satisfying smirk on his face as he took you all in, "Look at that, Baby. You're so wet for me. Do you need me to touch you?"

You whimper at the cool air hitting your cunt feeling the need for more. Your hips bucking as you finally open your eyes to look up at him pleadingly, "P-please Yunho..."

He grins triumphantly, his hand moving to gently stroke your pussy, cupping it entirely. "So you do know my name, Darling..." He continues to stroke you, bringing his pointer finger to your clit, moving in slow teasing circles. "You're gonna moan my name so beautifully. I love hearing the sounds you make when I touch you. It's like music to my ears."

"Please more, Yunho." You admit.

He chuckles, his fingers moving faster as he gives you what you want. "That's a good girl, begging for more. I love seeing you like this, all needy and desperate for me. I'lI give you more, don't worry. I'lI give you everything you need and more."

You nod at his words, grinding your hips against his fingers, feeling yourself creep closer to your climax. He watched in awe, as he let out a grunt, "That's it, Darling. Fuck yourself on my fingers. Let yourself feel the pleasure. You're so close, I can feel it. Just a little bit more, and you'll come for me. Take all of it. All this pleasure is yours to take."

It didn't take long for all your pent-up emotions to come breaking through the gates, tipping you over the edge, as you come against your big orcs fingers. "Fuck..."

"That's it. Such a good girl. I knew you could do it. You're such a good girl when you listen to me." He chuckles as he pulls his hand away, watching a string of your juices soaking his fingers, even some of it leaking out onto the pelt below you. Yunho's eyes roll back as he takes his fingers inside his mouth tasting the sweetness that is you, all the while you stare in disbelief having never seen such a hot sight. "You liked that, didn't you, little one? Seeing me lick your slick off my fingers. You like seeing me taste you. You like knowing that you're mine, and can do whatever I want to you? Hmm?"

You nod a little too quickly but you couldn't care anymore. "Yes..." It was suddenly like your tongue was loosened and all the words you've kept deep inside were suddenly spilling out, "And to answer you before, I've known who you are for a long time. heard the stories of the orc who raids villages. I.. I admire you. and I felt ashamed to be a fae in love with an orc. But all the good you did. All the species you had saved, it was hard not to fall." You felt your face redden as you noticed what you had just said, all your secrets had been let out to dry. You let out a whine, covering your face with your hands. "I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

Yunho was taken aback for a moment, before a smirk formed on his face, grabbing your wrists with a deep chestful giggle. "You've known who I am for a long time, huh? And you've been in love with me? That's quite a confession princess. I never thought a Fae would be interested in an Orc like me. But I have to admit, it's nice to hear you say that."

You sucked in a breath, watching every detail and expression on his face, "You're a war hero. I don't care if you're an orc... In fact, I love that you are." You felt a little self-conscious speaking about such things, but Yunho had made you feel like it was okay to open up.

He looks at you with a mix of surprise and pride, enjoying the way his ego was being stroked by you, "A war hero, huh? You really know how to flatter a guy. I never thought I'd hear those words from a Fae, let alone one who's in love with me. It's nice to be appreciated for my accomplishments and not just for my strength and brutality. So thank you, my darling."

You sat up slowly, watching as he followed your every move until he was on his knees. You finally take him all in, "I'm sorry for trying to run away before, I was..." You felt tears creep down your cheeks as you hiccuped, "I was so scared.... what my village would think of me. What would the Fae King and Queen... my parents would say. T-they hate orcs."

Yunho reaches out to gently wipe the tears from your puffy face. "Hey, it's okay. I understand why you were scared, little one. It's not easy to go against your family's beliefs and expectations. But you don't have to be afraid anymore. I won't let anyone hurt you, especially not your parents. You're mine now, and I'll protect you no matter what."

"You promise?" You hiccuped.

He nods, his expression serious but soft, "I promise, my love. I swear on my honour as an Orc that I will protect you and keep you safe. You're under my protection now, and no one will lay a hand on you without going through me first."

You reach for him, your hands snaking around his neck. Yunho let you guide him into a tender kiss. He was caught off guard for only a moment but quickly recovered as he wrapped his arms around your small figure, pulling you flush against his chest.

He kisses you back fiercely, his tongue dominating your mouth as he claims you as his own. You drop a hand to the knotted leather against his shoulder, untying the straps of his armour. He helps to get the chest plate and any other metal off his deep green body. Pulling away for a moment, you could finally see all the scars and blemishes on him, knowing each wound held a story. Without a second thought, your hands found the cloth around his waist, letting the fabric fall off his pelvis, freeing his angrily hard cock. He looks down at you with a mixture of desire and amusement grabbing his cock to squeeze it firmly, "Eager, are we, Darling? You can't wait to see what I'm packing, huh?"

You stutter, bring your hands to your sides as your wings shiver in anticipation. "Y-yes..." You admit.

"You're so cute when you blush, Darling. And those wings of yours are trembling with excitement. You're practically begging for it, aren't you? My precious little Fae."

You gulp, but instead of verbally responding, you decide to untangle the bow that laid on your shoulder, letting the rags fall off your figure before throwing the cloth somewhere in the room. Yunho watched with a bitten lip as his gaze darkened with lust, getting a full view of your pretty plump breasts and your dripping cunt.

"Fuck, princess. You look so beautiful like this. Spread out for me, completely bare and ready for me to take. You're certainly a sight to behold." He moves closer to you, positioning himself between your legs, his thick thighs only barely fitting. Your eyes had fogged over with a new form of adrenaline, shaking in anticipation over the idea of having him deep inside you. He positions himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock teasing your tight hole. You both took a large breath as he slowly began to ease inside you, watching as every inch of his cock sunk deeper and deeper. The burn sent your mind into a tailspin as you dropped your head back onto the soft fur below you. Most fae men were tiny and did not pack enough length or girth, but orcs, they were huge in every possible way.

"Oh, love, you're so tight. I can feel your pretty little pussy clenching so much." He chuckles at your gasp, watching your face contort in a painful pleasure. He enjoyed the feeling of your tightness around his cock. He slowly starts to push into you more and more, taking his time to make sure you can handle his size. Your screams grew louder as you basked in the feeling of him. Yunho couldn't help but groan in response to your lushish noises, feeling them fuel his own desire to keep going. "That's it, darling. Let me hear you scream. You feel so good around me. You're taking me so well, like a good girl."

He continues to push into you, his cock stretching you wider and wider until he finally bottoms out inside you, his cock buried to the hilt. He lets out a low growl of satisfaction, "You're taking all of me, baby. You're so full of me, aren't you? You're stretched around my cock like a perfect little cock sleeve."

You nod panting through your bitten lip as you stare up at him with watery eyes, "s-so full."

He smirks at your response enjoying the way you're reacting to his size, "You like being full, baby? You like feeling me stretching you out. Fill you up? You're such a good girl, taking my cock like this. I bet you'll be even more perfect when I start to move, huh?"

"Yes, Please. More. I need more." You confess, your voice raised over several octaves as your nails scrape along the pelts.

He grins at your pleading, "Oh, my love, you're so eager. You want me to start moving, huh? You want me to pound into you and make you scream my name?"

You whimper, bucking your hips against him while your hands move up to grab your thighs, holding them up so you are spread further for him to take you deeper. He growled, beginning to move, slowly at first, but then gradually picking up speed. He starts to thrust into you with a steady rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of your soaked cunt. Your screams of his name are like a broken record, and you feel like you're already coming apart.

Yunho grumbles in response. His pace picks up as he senses that you're approaching the edge. "That's it, Darling. Scream my name. Let everyone know who's making you feel this good. I can feel you getting close. Are you going to come for me again, baby?"

Tears stained your puffy red cheeks as he picked you up, holding you tight around your waist. With his brute strength, he fucked up into you at a deeper angle causing you to let out a yelp, "Yes! I'm gonna come. I want to come around your huge cock!!"

"Good girl. You can come, baby. Come for me, let go and give in to the pleasure. I want to feel you clenching around me as you come undone." He barked as he watched with narrow eyes as your wings fluttered and flapped like crazy. He placed his large palm on your back, holding you close, letting you fall into the crook of his neck, nuzzling against him. You scream his name for a final time before coming, squirting all over his cock and the floor below. He groans as you come, feeling your walls clench around him chokingly. But he continues his harsh thrusts, riding out your orgasm to prolong your pleasure.

He let you back down onto the pelts below, taking in every detail of your shaking figure. From your fluttering wings to the way your pussy kept sucking him in. "You're so beautiful when you come, you know. I can feel you squirting all over me, soaking the fur. You're a mess, but you're my mess now, darling."

A shiver runs down your spine at his words. My mess. You couldn't help but giggle lightly at the thought. You had always been a mess, a disappointment, and unwanted. But in this moment, you were more than happy to be defined as 'a mess' as long as it was solely his.

"Your mess..." You spoke with a battered breath.

Yunho smiles back at you, his expression, possessive and proud, "That's right. You're mine. You belong to me now, and I'm never letting you go. You're my mess to play with and claim whenever I want." He leaned down to kiss your cheek delicately.

"Then claim me, Yunho...C-cum inside me." You hiccup as he shifts, making you feel every bump and vein of his cock inside your overstimulated pussy.

"So eager to please me, to be mine. It's adorable. But I think you've had enough for now. I don't want to break you just yet." He chuckled, slowly pulling out of you. But without another thought, you follow his movements. Using your wings, you push yourself into his arms, making him fall onto his back, letting you straddle him.

You can feel his cock resting against your ass, grinding gently on his pelvis, you whimper, "I want you to come to Yunho. I want to feel you come inside me."

Yunho was caught off by your confession. His parted lips quickly turned into a sly smirk as he clearly enjoyed the way you were begging for him. As if you couldn't get any more perfect, you one up yourself. "You want my cum, my love? You want me to fill you up and claim you from the inside out?"

You nod, making him groan as his cock twitched against you. His hands find your hips as he picks you up effortlessly. He rotates you until you are on all fours on the pelts, and your head is facing the fire pit. "I want to make you come one more time, and then I'll give you what you want. Got it?"

You feel like your body is already growing weaker by the second but you sigh at an 'okay' while you wiggle your hips, letting him sink back inside your abused pussy from behind. He thrusts pick back up, harshly snapping his hips into you. Yunho reaches down and starts to rub your clit with his thumb, adding extra stimulation to bring you closer to the edge. "You're doing so well, baby. Just a little bit more, and you'll come again for me. I can feel you getting close again. Just let go and let yourself feel the pleasure."

Your climax came quicker than the previous, your screams were stripped from a sore throat as you tipped over the edge clamping around his large cock while you drug your nails into the soft pelts. Yunho could feel his own orgasm approaching, but he held back, wanting to savour the feeling of you coming undone around him once more. He knew he would never get over the feeling of you clenching around him, and it was going to quickly become one of his favourite things in the world. "Your body is so responsive, so eager to please me. I'm going to fill you up now, my love. I'm going to claim you and make you mine forever."

The mixture of the flame from the fire and the heat shivering down your body made you hot to the touch, and with a few more hard snaps of Yunho's hips, he finally reached his own climax. He lets out a low growl that is almost animalistic as he comes, his sticky load spilling deep inside your cunt. He keeps his cock buried inside you as he rides out his orgasm, making sure to fill you up entirely while he gazes at you. Laid out flat on the floor with a heaving chest. You were completely fucked out of my mind, sweaty and content. A smile plastered on your face, you whispered. "Thank you."

You had no real reason as to why you said those words, but in your heart made you feel like they needed to be said. Thank you for saving me. You thought. Thank you for being the hero the world needs. Thank you for keeping hope alive. Your mind wandered for the right words, but thank you was all that had come out in the end.

Yunho pulled out slowly, careful not to hurt you, but before he could say anything, he noticed you had fallen straight asleep. Your little snores make his heart swell. So he got to work, grabbing the sheets from the nearby bed before lying down next to you, wrapping his arms around your figure tightly so he could pull you close. His nose nuzzled in your messy and tangled hair as he whispered to you, "You belong to me now and I, you. Once we are home, we will be married. And you will finally have the freedom to do whatever your heart wishes."

He felt a twinge in his heart at the possibility of your parents trying to take you back, but he would gladly kill them before they would ever land another finger on you. He knows he's claimed you now, and he'll make sure everyone knows it, too, especially your filthy parents. You're his, and he'll do whatever it takes to keep you by his side. Protected and loved.

[amirasainz]

Omg, i love your account so much. Can you make a Max x Reader story, where Max is a Mafia Boss and Reader is his wife. He is like super protective of her and gives her the princess treatment always. One night, she sees Max doing something horrible (can be whatever) and gets scared.

Make it angst and happy ending, please 🙏

Hi, I love this idea. I hope I did a good job.

Enjoy reading and send some requests

I am looking for some team principal reader ideas (but anything is fine)

-xoxo, Babygirl 💋

Just a dream

Max Verstappen, feared Mafia boss in Europe, but to his wife Yn, he was simply Max. Her Max. The man who doted on her, showered her with affection and luxuries, and kept her blissfully unaware of the darker parts of his world. Yn knew that her husband was involved in something dangerous. After all, nobody amassed the kind of power and wealth Max did without blood on their hands. But he had always shielded her from that life. He insisted it was for her own protection, and Yn trusted him.

Their life together was picture-perfect. Max took Yn shopping regularly, indulging her in whatever she wanted, from designer clothes to exotic vacations. He was fiercely protective of her, ensuring she was never alone without a discreet but ever-present security detail. But most of all, he loved her with an intensity that was as overwhelming as it was comforting.

One night, however, everything changed.

♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧

It was late, past midnight, when Yn stirred in bed. Max’s side was empty, the sheets cold. She glanced at the clock—2:37 AM. Max had stepped out earlier, saying he had a meeting to handle but would be back soon. Usually, Yn slept through his absences, but something about the stillness in the house unsettled her.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed, pulling on one of Max’s oversized shirts before padding barefoot down the grand hallway. She heard muffled voices coming from one of the rooms downstairs, the sound of Max’s unmistakable low, commanding voice. Curiosity got the better of her, and before she knew it, she was walking toward the source of the noise.

As she rounded the corner, her heart stopped.

In the dimly lit room, Max stood in front of a man who was bound to a chair, his face bruised and bloodied, barely recognizable. The man’s head hung low, his body limp, and Max, the man who was her world, was towering over him with a look of cold fury. Two of Max’s men stood nearby, their arms crossed, watching the scene with detached indifference.

Yn gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The sound was small, but it was enough.

Max’s head whipped around, his blue eyes immediately softening when they landed on her. In an instant, he shifted from the ruthless mafia boss to the husband who loved her more than anything.

“Yn,” he said, his voice thick with concern, stepping toward her quickly. “What are you doing up?”

Her eyes were wide with horror as she stared at the bloodied man, then back at Max. “Wh-What…what is this?” she stammered, her voice trembling.

Max’s jaw clenched, his expression darkening—not at her, but at his men. “Why didn’t any of you stop her?” he barked, his voice deadly.

The men flinched. “We thought she was asleep, Boss,” one of them muttered, eyes cast down, terrified of the consequences.

“Out. Now.” Max's command was sharp and final. His men hurried out of the room without another word, leaving Max and Yn alone.

He was by her side in seconds, his hands gently cradling her face as he searched her eyes for the fear he knew would be there. “Yn, Schatje, look at me,” he whispered, pulling her close, his strong arms wrapping around her trembling body.

She was shaking, unable to comprehend what she had just seen. “Max…what…what’s happening? Why is that man—?”

Max cut her off, pressing a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering as he spoke softly, soothingly. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe. I didn’t want you to see this.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, her mind racing. “You’re hurting him, Max,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Max’s grip on her tightened, his heart aching as he heard the tremor in her voice. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Yn. I promised I’d protect you. That’s all this is, okay? It’s business. It’s not something you need to worry about.”

“But…he’s…” Her eyes darted back to the man, slumped in the chair. “Max, what are you doing to him?”

Max sighed, his hand moving to gently stroke her hair, his other arm still securely around her waist. “He made some very bad decisions. And in my world, there are consequences. But none of this…none of it touches you, Yn. I’ve made sure of that. You’ll never be part of this.”

Yn’s tears started to fall, and Max held her closer, his heart breaking at the sight of her distress. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry, love. You weren’t supposed to see this. I swear, I’ll make sure it never happens again.”

“But…” she tried to protest, her voice catching in her throat.

“No,” Max said firmly but gently, lifting her into his arms with ease. “You’re not staying here for this. I won’t let you. Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

She didn’t resist as he carried her upstairs, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Once back in their bedroom, Max laid her down on the bed and crawled in beside her, pulling her close to his chest.

Yn buried her face in his neck, her tears wetting his skin as she cried softly. Max held her, rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles, whispering comforting words into her hair.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” he murmured over and over, his voice thick with regret. “I never wanted you to see that. It’s not who I am with you. Please, Yn, don’t be scared. I’ll protect you. Always.”

Yn clung to him, her body trembling against his. “I love you, Max,” she whispered through her tears, her voice broken.

“I love you more than anything, Yn,” Max whispered back, kissing the top of her head. “More than anything.”

---

The next morning, Yn woke up to the sunlight streaming through the curtains. For a moment, everything felt normal, the horrors of the previous night almost like a distant memory. Max was lying beside her, watching her with a soft smile on his face as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

“Good morning, liefde,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her gently on the lips.

Yn blinked, still feeling the weight of the night before, but Max’s calm demeanor made her second-guess herself. “Max, last night…I…” she began, her voice uncertain.

Max’s smile never wavered. He stroked her cheek tenderly. “It was just a bad dream, baby. You were restless, talking in your sleep. Nothing happened. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Yn frowned, trying to remember, but Max’s words were so reassuring, so certain, that she began to doubt her own memory. “A dream?” she whispered, confused.

Max nodded, his eyes full of love and warmth. “Just a dream. Everything’s okay now.”

Yn nodded slowly, letting herself relax against him. It had felt so real, but maybe she had just been imagining things. Max always protected her, kept her safe. Why would he lie to her?

She snuggled closer to him, letting out a small sigh of relief as Max wrapped his arms around her once more, holding her tightly as though he never wanted to let go.

But as Max held her close, his expression hardened ever so slightly. What Yn didn’t see—what Max made sure she never would—was the bloody rope still hidden under the sofa downstairs. The remnants of the life he kept carefully tucked away, far from the woman he loved more than anything.

And he would do whatever it took to keep it that way.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

something something dark!logan who puts reader in dangerous situations so he can save her and then convince her that no one is safe and he’s the only one she can trust. is it bad that i find the thought of logan baby trapping me hot?

(this is not proofread, i wrote this in like 30 minutes)

-

the first time he sees you, something primal unlocks in him. you’re suddenly the only thing he can think about, your sweet smile taking over his dreams. he wants you in a way he’s never wanted anything before, willing to do anything you ask of him, willing to kill anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way.

every time he sees your smile drop he’s filled with a murderous rage. 

but when he’s around you, the world slows down. there’s only you and him and the tension between you. your friends tell you that he’s dangerous, he’s angry and drunk all the time, but you just stare at them in confusion because he’s never so much as raised his voice at you.

so you wave off your friends worries, telling them that he’s an absolute sweetheart and maybe he just has a bad reputation, but you know him.

he invites you to go to a bar with him and you agree enthusiastically. you love spending time with him, and this is sounding almost like a date. you get all dolled-up for him, hopeful that something in your relationship will shift tonight. 

you agreed to meet at the bar, so you wait outside the building for logan, bouncing on the balls of your feet. that’s when a man approaches you, big and burly and asking what you’re doing all dressed up and alone. he drags you into the alley beside the bar, but before anything can happen, the man is being thrown into the wall.

logan stabs the guy in the chest with his claws, letting the blood run down his hand. because while he was the one who paid the guy to do this to you, he still couldn’t stand the sight of another man’s hands on you. so he brings his fist down again, claws puncturing the man’s lungs. and again and again and again, until you have to pull him off the bloody corpse.

the minute his eyes meet yours, it's like he becomes a completely new person. he drives you home, a hand on your thigh. he holds you close when you cry in his arms, whispering that he’s so sorry he wasn’t there to protect you, that he should have offered to drive you, that he should have known someone would try to hurt you, because you’re beautiful and pure and the world is a wretched place that wants to destroy souls like yours.

you start dating and logan becomes even more protective and jealous. now that he knows what it's like to have you, he’ll do anything to keep you.

so he stages dangerous situations, manipulates you into falling right into the traps he’s laid out, and every time he comes to rescue you. he’s the hero of your story, and you tell him that, laying with your head on his chest one night.

but he still doesn’t feel like it's enough. the animal in him longs to call you his, to claim you permanently. to mate with you, to breed you. 

so he convinces you to move in with him, something that’s pretty easy after he hires someone to break into your apartment. he observes your routines, memorises your little daily schedules, and when you’re in the shower he switches out your birth control pills for placebo ones.

when he fucks you it’s hard and rough. it’s the only time he lets himself be something other than gentle with you, because he knows how much you love it, can smell your arousal growing with every thrust, can feel how wet you are around him. you cry out his name, grasping desperately at his arms, shoulders, back, anywhere you can reach really, for some sort of support.

you’re so out of it that you don’t notice when he cums deep inside you instead of pulling out like you’d asked. he keeps fucking his cum into you, pushing it deeper. when the afterglow of your orgasm fades and you feel his cum leaking out of you, you freak out, pushing him off you.

but he asks, “aren’t you on birth control?” and after a long conversation he convinces you that it’ll be fine, that’s what birth control is for, and besides, doesn’t it feel better raw? don’t you love the feeling of his thick cum shooting inside you, coating your insides, claiming you?

you’re terrified when you find out you're pregnant, and logan acts just as shocked, as if he couldn’t smell when you were ovulating and hadn’t planned to breed you as many times as he could during that period to make sure it stuck. 

he tells you that no matter what he’ll be by your side, that he’s never really thought about settling down and being a family man but that he’s never felt for anyone what he feels for you, and the thought of having a child with you, someone that’s half your dna and half his, your love for each other in a physical form, sounds wonderful.

and then one day, after your daughter is born, as you’re watching logan holding her in his large arms, you admit that you knew he was borderline stalking you before you two started dating, and you knew after the third time that the men attacking you were being hired to do so, and you knew when he switched out your birth control.

and you confess to him that no one’s ever really loved you the way logan does, completely and unconditionally, and even if logan’s a little unhinged and obsessive about making sure you won’t leave him, you appreciate that quality. because he wouldn’t go through all that effort and all that trouble if he didn’t care about you.

logan, who thought it was impossible to love you any more than he already did, feels himself fall in love all over again at that confession.

[blackenedsnow]

art the clown x a super suicidal reader?

riddles in red

WARNING: Graphic descriptions of self-harm, suicidal ideation, depictions of violence, gore, dark themes, unhealthy relationships, toxic affection.

PAIRING: Art the Clown x Suicidal! Reader

NOTE: Thanks for the request! I’m absolutely loving the creative freedom with this on! Stay safe, and remember this is purely fiction; if you're struggling, reach out for help. Enjoy!

SUMMARY: You're trapped in an endless cycle of self-harm and suicidal ideation, you find yourself inexplicably entangled with Art the Clown, whose existence brings a strange sense of comfort.

Your body is a canvas of fading bruises, healing wounds, and fresh cuts. Scars etched in your skin, carved by your own hands, tell the stories you can't say aloud. The pain brings clarity, a moment of reprieve from the chaos inside your mind – a moment where the world silences itself, and the only thing you hear is the rush of blood in your ears, the only thing you feel is the sting beneath the blade.

But lately, there's been another presence. Not the darkness in your head, but something – someone – that terrifies you more than your own destructive thoughts.

Art.

You don’t know when you first saw him. It was somewhere between one breakdown and another, between one failed attempt at escape from this world and the cruel joke that is still being here. He appeared, looming like a nightmarish figure from the deepest recesses of your subconscious. But he didn’t kill you. That was the weird part.

No, he just... watched. Smiled that grotesque, too-wide smile that stretches across his painted face, tilting his head in a way that says everything his silence doesn't. The first time you expected him to pull out one of his twisted tricks – a honk of a horn before plunging something sharp into your chest, ripping you apart for his own sadistic pleasure. But instead, he reached out with a gloved hand, fingers brushing against the bloodied cuts on your wrists, and you froze.

Art’s fascination wasn’t with violence in this moment. It was with you.

His cold, dark eyes, pits of inky nothingness, tracked every motion of the blade. You don’t know what disturbed you more: the fact that you let him stay or the fact that you weren’t scared of him. Not in the same way you should be. There was no fear of death, not anymore. There was only this strange, eerie comfort in his presence – in knowing that someone, even someone like him, saw you.

You once asked yourself: What’s worse than dying?

Now you know.

It’s living when you don’t want to. It’s dragging your feet through each day, heavy with the weight of a mind that’s been your worst enemy for as long as you can remember. It’s the numbness, the cold spreading through your bones like frost creeping across glass. And it's having someone – no, something – that embodies the very concept of death standing beside you, silent as a shadow, watching as you destroy yourself piece by piece.

But Art... God, he’s a riddle. A silent enigma wrapped in his black-and-white attire, his clownish garb juxtaposed against the violence he's capable of. You don’t know why he hasn’t killed you yet. He’s killed so many others, but not you.

Maybe it’s because he sees in you the kind of death that can’t be brought about by knives or guns or chainsaws. Maybe he sees someone already broken, already decaying from the inside out. Or maybe it’s because in some twisted, sick way, he loves you.

Love. What a joke. It’s never been something you understood. But when Art looks at you with those dead, hollow eyes, there’s something there. Not love in the way a human would feel it. No. This is something darker, more grotesque. It’s obsession, possession, fixation – a need to keep you close, to watch as you unravel further.

Art’s affection comes in small gestures. He’ll tilt his head as you press the blade against your skin, and he’s smiling behind that thick layer of face paint. Once, he handed you a knife, a gift of sorts, as if to say, “Here. This one’s sharper.”

You took it.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. His movements, his actions, speak volumes. The way his eyes linger on the red ribbons of blood trailing down your arm, the way he crouches beside you, close enough that you can feel the cold radiating off him, but he never touches. Not unless you let him. Not unless you want him to.

And you do. Sometimes, you let his gloved hands trace over the scars you’ve made, let his fingers curl around your wrist, a gentle but firm hold that tells you he’s in control – that he could break you if he wanted to.

But he never does.

He watches, a patient, twisted guardian of your own destruction. Sometimes, you imagine what it would feel like if he did decide to end it – to snap your neck with those disturbingly strong hands, to cut you open, spilling your insides onto the floor in a horrific display of artistry. But he never does.

Instead, he’s there, in the background of your life, a constant, silent presence. Watching. Always watching. And you don’t know why, but that’s enough. It’s enough that someone, even someone as monstrous as Art, cares enough to stay.

You don’t feel like a person anymore. You’re more a collection of bad habits, of scars and open wounds, of thoughts too heavy for any one person to carry. You don’t have friends. You don’t have family. You have Art. And maybe that’s enough.

The night he showed you his love was the night you came closest to dying. You were shaking, the blade poised above your wrist, fresh blood already pooling beneath you. Art was there, sitting on the floor beside you, mimicking your posture in that eerie, almost playful way of his.

You could feel his eyes on you, feel his anticipation. This was it. You were finally going to do it. You were finally going to end it.

But then, in a flash of movement faster than you could comprehend, he was on you. His hands wrapped around yours, taking the blade from your fingers with a gentleness you didn’t think he was capable of. His eyes bore into yours, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kill you himself.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours, a strange, tender gesture. You could feel his cold breath against your skin, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel alone.

Art the Clown, this inhuman, grotesque creature, had stopped you from killing yourself.

You don’t know why. You don’t know if you’ll ever know. But in that moment, you realized something.

You’re his.

He’s not keeping you alive because he wants to kill you himself. No. He’s keeping you alive because, in some twisted way, he needs you. Maybe he sees you as a project, something to mold and shape into his own image. Or maybe, just maybe, he cares.

It’s sick. It’s twisted. But in this cold, cruel world, You’ll take what you can get.

[gojoux]

『 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄 』

· Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

· Summary: Life has decided to lead you to him or lead him to you, knowing that you two are destined together despite your differences. This told story is just a glimpse of a few memories between you and him, one that he remembers dearly.

· CW: 8.6k // Mostly fluff. True Form!Sukuna. Heian Era. Overprotective + Possessive Sukuna. Very subtle sex scenes. Slight violence.

Late post because the app screwed me over a divider. As you see... it’s thicker like him than usual.

The infamous King of Curses had only one weakness—you.

Ryomen Sukuna, the most fearsome sorcerer (or used to be one) alive, would melt in your presence. His usual cold and cruel demeanor vanished when he was with you, replaced by a gentle sweetness he showed to no other.

From the very first moment your paths crossed, he was utterly enthralled, something he would never expect to feel in his life. You’re someone he doesn’t even know or heard of and he doesn’t find the appeal from you, but there’s just something about you that makes him enchanted at first sight.

Your luminous soul called to him like a song. He knew you were destined to be his. And so he courted you as tenderly as his blackened heart would allow, coaxing you to return his affections.

Slowly, gently, he broke down your defenses. His smoldering gazes made your heart flutter. His feather-light touches from his big, strong hands and fingers sent shivers down your spine. Before long, you realized you were falling for this demon who looked at you with such longing in his crimson eyes.

He could shower you with all the passion and devotion he had been holding back. He cherishes you, catering to your every desire. Just being near you was euphoric for him.

When apart, he counted the seconds until he could see you again. And when reunited, he was unable to keep his hands off you, showering you with passionate kisses and whispers of sweet words.

“You are mine. Remember that,” he would murmur against your skin as he held you close. “Always.”

You had tamed the beast. Or so you thought.

While Sukuna was nearly defenseless against your love, it also ignited something far more sinister—his jealousy.

The mere idea of losing you made his blood burn with rage. Other men were not even permitted to look at you, lest they get torn limb from limb.

Though deeply in love, Sukuna’s possessive nature remained. And woe befall any who dared threaten what was his.

The first time it happened was weeks after you’d become his. A young lord from a clan sent you gifts and flowers, seeking your affection. When Sukuna discovered this, the fury in his eyes turned them molten gold.

“He dares think he can steal you away from me?” Sukuna seethed. In an instant, he vanished to hunt down the offending lord.

He returned hours later drenched in blood that was not his own. You shuddered to imagine what cruel fate had befallen the misguided young man. Sukuna said nothing of it, simply pulled you into a bruising kiss and swore you’d never leave his side again.

After that, the corpses started piling up.

A guard who eyed you lasciviously, eviscerated.

A peasant whose longing stare lingered too long, executed.

Anyone who so much as looked at you with desire was signing their own death warrant.

You begged Sukuna to show mercy, but your pleas fell on deaf ears. “They try to take what is mine,” he would snarl. “They deserve no less than agony and death.”

His demonic nature had fully resurfaced, and you realized just what you had unleashed. Sukuna would slaughter legions and burn the world to ashes if it meant keeping you.

You were terrified of what he had become. Yet some traitorous part of you thrilled at being so coveted, so passionately loved, even if it came at a bloody cost.

He was an obsession incarnate, and you, his obsession.

No matter where you turned, his shadow loomed.

There would be no escaping the King of Curses’ dark desires.

You were his.

How did it all start? It’s been too long since it went past your head already.

But you do remember vividly when you were walking that one night when your gut told you not to, you did.

You should have listened to your instincts. But there was something about the forest at night that called to you, beckoning you to explore its moon-bathed paths and whispering trees.

Curiosity won out over caution, and you decided one quick walk couldn’t hurt.

You set out just after sunset, relishing the kiss of cool night air on your skin. The woods were serene and lovely in the deep blue hush just before true darkness fell. Night blooms perfumed the air as you wandered along aimlessly, simply savoring this secret world.

Until you realized you had lost your way. Suddenly the trees seemed more ominous, the shadows deeper. You paused, peering anxiously through the gloom.

How long have you been walking?

Which way was home?

As you turned around in circles trying to get your bearings, a blow of wind appeared behind you. You froze, heartbeat thudding in your ears.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You whipped around with a gasp. Emerging from the trees was a tall, powerfully built man. But what drew your wide-eyed stare were the four arms crossed onto his bare, toned chest.

You stumbled back in terror, but he moved unnaturally fast, appearing before you in an instant. Up close, details that had escaped you at a distance were now frighteningly clear. Tattoos are carved on his face and body. His eyes burned crimson.

You were face to face with the King of Curses himself.

“Please…” you whimpered, trembling. “I mean no trespass...”

Sukuna tilted his head, considering you with evident amusement. He reached out an arm towards you, his fingers gliding along your jaw, tipping your chin up. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for death.

But instead of tearing you apart, he simply chuckled. “Open your eyes. I will not harm you.”

You cracked them open hesitantly. Sukuna was observing you closely now, intrigued.

“Fear not. I merely wondered who was wandering my woods at this late hour,” he purred. “But I see now… you are no threat at all.”

His touch was surprisingly gentle as he traced the line of your throat. You shivered but did not dare pull away. The heat of his skin felt feverish against yours.

“What brings you here to me, I wonder?” he murmured, his piercing gaze seeming to lay your soul bare.

He tutted, circling you slowly. “These woods are dangerous at night, especially for tempting morsels like yourself. Do you have any idea what lurks in the shadows?” He paused expectantly, but you were too petrified to respond.

You licked your dry lips nervously. “I… I was simply exploring. I did not mean to disturb—”

“Quiet.” A finger pressed lightly over your mouth. “How shall I punish this trespass? I do hate uninvited guests.”

You finally found your voice, though it trembled pitifully. “P-please, I meant no intrusion. If you let me go, I swear I will never—”

“Let you go?” Sukuna tilted his head, looking almost offended. “Now, why would I do that? No, you will not be leaving.”

Your heart hammered at those enigmatic words. Just what did this dangerous being want with you? Surely not anything good.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna laughed once more. “Worry not, little one. I only wish for some company.” In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between you, caging you with his body. This close, the heat pouring off him was incredible, the coils of his tattoos seeming to slither and shift before your eyes with your heart hammering wildly.

A violent shudder went through you, though not entirely from fear now. Being clasped in his strong embrace had stirred something unexpected within you. A strange exhilaration at having caught the eye of this exotic and terrible being.

He leaned down, inhaling deeply near the crook of your neck. “Mm, such fear. I can taste it rolling off your skin… intoxicating.” His lips grazed your fluttering pulse, making you shudder. “You are afraid, yet also thrilled to see me, aren’t you?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. Was it that obvious, the traitorous excitement you felt being so close to this dangerous demon? You just couldn’t tear your eyes away from his unusual beauty.

“I thought so,” he purred, looking utterly satisfied. He brushed a finger lightly down your cheek. “It seems fate has brought you to me for a reason.”

Sukuna sensed your reaction and made a small pleased noise. In one smooth motion, he swept you up into his arms and started carrying you deeper into the woods.

You gasped, hands braced against the solid muscles of his shoulder. “Where are you taking me? Please, I never meant to intrude! I am sorry! just—”

“Shut it.” His grip tightened. “Do not fight me. Submit, and it will go easier for you.”

Tears of panic spilled down your cheeks. But despite your fear, you felt your body responding to his proximity, pulsing with alarming warmth. Your thoughts scattered as Sukuna claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, tasting your helpless whimper.

“What are you…” you gasped, too speechless to find a word to fight back.

As if reading your mind again, Sukuna adjusts the way he’s carrying you to brush his lips against your own in a feather-light caress. “I hope you are not too afraid, little one. I have been alone for so long, you will keep me company. And I have no intention of letting you go.”

Some part of you recognized the truth in his words. No matter how your mind recoiled, your body was betraying you, longing for more of his addictive caresses. He sensed your crumbling resistance, his smile triumphant.

“You are mine now. Do not fight it.”

You stared around in awe at the sprawling shinden-zukuri as Sukuna placed you down and led you inside. Paper screens glowed warmly with lantern light, illuminating opulent tatami rooms decorated with priceless scrolls and vases, and through meticulously tended gardens dotted with tranquil ponds. Everything about this place spoke of immense power and wealth.

It was a far cry from your own humble village dwelling. You could scarcely fathom how a demon lord had come to possess such a magnificent noble estate out here in the remote forest.

As Sukuna guided you deeper into the manse, you passed several elegantly dressed women in simple yet elegant kimonos, all keeping their gazes demurely lowered.

‘Servants,’ you realized. But where had they come from? Were they taken like how you are now? Were you about to become another of his servants?

When you reached the main manor, Sukuna slid open the screen to reveal a grand receiving chamber. Priceless ink scrolls and painted silk screens adorned the walls. The opulence was staggering.

“Do you like it?” he asked, noting your awe. “I claimed this estate long ago from its previous owners.”

You shivered at the implication behind those words but said nothing as he guided you deeper inside.

Your bemused wondering was interrupted when Sukuna slid open a screen door, ushering you into a lavish bed chamber. A large futon covered in silks took up most of the space.

“You must be weary, little one,” he stroked your hair. “Rest now. I will have my servants draw you a bath.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead before gliding from the room. Still stunned by your opulent surroundings, you wandered over to the open window. Beyond the manicured gardens and koi ponds you could see nothing but dense forest stretching endlessly. Just how far had Sukuna brought you?

You had little time to ponder before two servant women appeared, bowing deeply. They poured hot water into a carved wooden tub and then added cherry blossom-scented oils.

You let them help you disrobe and sink into the fragrant bath, the tension in your muscles unwinding. The demon’s domain was still terrifying and foreign, but you couldn’t deny the comforts he lavished upon you. His possession had a gentleness to it that left you conflicted.

This place treated you better in less than two hours than your whole life in the village.

After your bath, the servants dressed you in silken robes layered in rich hues of wisteria and spring leaves. Darkened your lips with crushed berries. They arranged your hair with jade combs and dabbed perfume at your wrists in a courtly fashion.

Examining their work in a bronze mirror, you barely recognized yourself. The simple village girl staring back from the bronze mirror was gone, replaced by someone who looked like a noblewoman.

Sukuna was waiting when you emerged, hungry eyes sweeping over you appreciatively. “Beautiful,” he pulls you close to him. His lips grazed your wrist, inhaling the perfume there. “You will come to appreciate the comforts of being mine.” His words sent an illicit tingle through you.

“Thank you,” was all you could say as you felt your body sway toward him, eyelashes fluttering downward demurely. His attentions were clouding your caution, making you forget the circumstances that had brought you here.

Sukuna seemed pleased by your response. He took your hand and led you to a candlelit room where a feast awaited. You kneeled on plush cushions across from him. There, your eyes widen at the sight—dishes you could only dream of tasting.

“Uraume is my best cook. They know how to make delicious food,” he brags, pointing at the person with white bob hair with his eyes. Uraume bowed respectfully before excusing themselves.

As the night deepened, Sukuna kept your cup full, his burning gaze holding yours in the romantic glow. Here in this place of luxury, it was easy to forget he was someone who had stolen you away.

“Come.” He held out one of his hands. “It is time you rested.”

Back in the bed chamber, he guided you down onto silken sheets while your pulse quickened. His eyes roamed your body hungrily before he leaned down to claim your lips in a deep kiss. You knew you should resist, but his touch ignited a dangerous fire inside.

His fingers trailed delicately along your skin as he peeled away each layer of your robes until you were laid bare before him. “You are so lovely, little one,” he rasped. He pressed you down into the silken futon, his eyes focused on you. “I will teach you pleasures fit for an empress,” he growled.

“And you will learn to crave my body above all else.”

His words sent a spike of fear through you, even as your traitorous body responded hungrily to his. His burning caress left no doubt of his intentions. You trembled, but didn’t refuse him.

Here in this beautiful prison, you were his to do with as he pleased. And some traitorous part of you craved to experience the passions he promised.

As Sukuna’s body covered yours, you surrendered completely to him. Within these walls, you now belonged utterly to him.

You had been living as Sukuna’s pampered pet in his lavish manor for several days now. He gifted you an ornate silk kimono, adorned your hair with jeweled combs, and ensured you lacked nothing. At night, he would lay you across silken futons and set your body aflame with new realms of pleasure.

But each morning after, as he caressed your skin and murmured endearments, doubts crept in. Were there others that he touched this way? The thought filled you with unease.

You wanted his passion reserved only for you.

When Sukuna appeared in your room this evening, he found you quiet and distant, your smile restrained. Brow furrowing, he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

“What troubles you, little one? Have I not provided for you well?”

You gathered your courage. “I… I have a request, My Lord…”

He raised one brow, “Oh? Speak.”

“If we are to share such intimacy, I wish it to be only between us. No other lover, in any way.” You held his gaze evenly. “Will you vow this, please?”

For a moment Sukuna only stared, stunned by your bold demand. Then a sly smile curved his lips.

“My little one wishes to tame me, is that it?” He trailed a finger lightly down your cheek. “You seek to bind me to yourself alone?”

Heart pounding, you gave one short nod.

Sukuna threw back his head with a delighted laugh. “You fascinate me endlessly. No mortal has ever dared make demands of me.” His expression softened by looking at your innocent face. “But for you, I will agree.”

He leans down, face to face with you, “From now on, I am yours alone.”

Relief washed through you at his oath. As Sukuna drew you into a passionate kiss, you yielded completely for the first time, holding nothing back.

“My sweet, little love…” He lifted you in his arms. “I will make you forget any existed before this night.”

And he did. Laying you down, hands and lips he worshiped you, wringing gasps and cries from your lips as you arched desperately, mindless and pleading beneath him.

At the height of ecstasy, his burning gaze held yours. His heated gaze seared into yours at the pinnacle, fierce and possessive. “No other shall ever know you as I do.”

The feeling when your body joined, the sensation was beyond words, it felt like coming home. Like a missing piece of your soul had been restored. Wave after wave of bliss crested over you both, leaving you entwined in breathless ecstasy.

As lantern light faded to silvery moonbeams, Sukuna held you close, your heartbeats synchronizing. You now belonged only to each other in body, heart, and soul.

“Mine,” Sukuna rasped against your skin, his canine digging into your neck, marking you as his. “Just as I am yours. This, I vow to you, little one, from now until the end of days.”

His words echoed long in your mind, even as spent passion gave way to sleep in his enveloping embrace. The King of Curses himself was now bound to you irrevocably. And you to him.

The vow had been spoken, the ritual complete.

The days had settled into a predictable routine in Sukuna’s residence. He would vanish for hours or even full days to attend to mysterious “business”, leaving you to wander the chambers and gardens alone. You never ask where he went or what occupied him. Some fears were best left unspoken.

But your heart would lift eagerly whenever Sukuna returned, no matter how late the hour. Just knowing he had come back to you was enough. You took to waiting anxiously by the engawa, ready to greet him.

At first, he returned spotless and composed. But soon the blood became noticeable.

It would decorate his arms, spatter his chest and face in drying rust-colored patterns. The life essence of whatever poor souls had crossed him in the nearby villages. You didn’t need to ask how it got there.

The first time, you gasped and shrank back in horror. But Sukuna just smiled and opened his arms to you. “Come, let us get cleansed of the day’s exertions.”

You forced yourself to look past the gore, seeing only your demonic lord who needed tending. Taking his hand, you led him to the bath chamber.

There you gently sponged away the carnage, breathing relief when his skin emerged clean again. Sukuna watched you intently, eyes glowing with unspoken emotions. You didn’t dare examine it too closely.

When you were done, he would pull you into his lap, nuzzling against your throat almost tenderly. As if your ministries had tamed the beast lurking within.

“My little one,” he would rumble. And your heart would swell under his praises.

Before long, you began living for his returns. The hours apart stretched endlessly, your thoughts consumed with concern for his well-being. Your chest would tighten with loneliness in his absence. Maybe you craved him because you have no one to come home to, that’s why you are willing to be with him.

Surely he must share your needs, right?

The moment his shadow appeared down the corridor, you flew to him, embracing him heedless of any lingering blood. Sukuna laughed indulgently, hands gentling your desperation.

“Such passion, little one. Did you miss me so terribly?”

You nodded, not caring how you exposed your dependence on him. He tipped your chin up, his sharp eyes looking at you softly. “As I missed you. The time apart is agony.”

His admission made you smile in relief. After bathing him, you would prepare tea and draw him into quiet conversation, savoring this domestic intimacy. Here with you, he almost seemed content.

At late night, his lovemaking took on new urgency, as if reaffirming your bond. You matched his intensity, wanting to erase any distance the day had built between you.

“You are all I need,” he whispered afterward, cradling you close. And you knew then you were hopelessly lost to this dangerous creature. He had become your entire world.

When Sukuna departed each morning, part of you went with him. Until he returned to make you whole once more. There was no denying the truth—you were his, mind, body, and soul.

You see, life with Sukuna provided came at a terrible price—the waiting.

And so you hatched a plan.

You requested the finest silks from the seamstress and described the revealing garment you wished to craft. An elegant yet alluring yukata, hinting at the beauty beneath.

On the night of his homecoming, you adorned yourself carefully, arranging your hair over your bare shoulders, sketching your lips crimson. The ensemble left you feeling exposed, but also powerful.

When Sukuna entered the bed chamber, the sight of you made him halt in his tracks. Eyes widened as they traced over you hungrily, taking in every contour the diaphanous fabric outlined.

“Little one,” he rasped. “You look like divinity itself. What is all this for?”

You steeled your nerves and went to him, guiding his fingers to untie your sash with hands that trembled.

“I wish to ease your burdens tonight, My Lord. Will you permit me?”

A growl escapes his throat as your robes slip to the floor. The intensity of his gaze seared into your skin everywhere it touched. Strong arms pulled you fiercely against him.

“You test my restraint, beloved. Are you certain?”

At your whispered yes, his control shattered. With infinite care he bore you down onto silken sheets, praising every inch of newly bared flesh until you were dizzy and pleading.

Even at its peak, he kept the pace languid—long, delirious strokes of passion. The pleasure was sweet agony. You arched and moved as one, minds entwining as deeply as your bodies.

When it ended, you were changed. Sukuna held you tenderly as languor claimed you both, as if you were the most precious treasure in the world.

Perhaps you should have been afraid of this obsessive devotion. But you could not imagine life without him now.

As nice as it is living comfortably with everything provided for you, sometimes his residence becomes a gilded cage. You yearned to walk beyond the gardens, to visit the nearby villages you glimpsed from afar.

After much pleading, Sukuna finally relented. “If it will make you happy, we shall go. But you must stay close to me.” His eyes held an unspoken warning.

The day came at last. Taking his arm, you ventured out onto the winding forest paths, buzzing with excitement. Sukuna watched you closely, as if to imprint each delighted reaction.

When the first simple thatched dwellings came into view, you gasped. “Oh, look! Real village life, just as I remembered.”

“Then let us explore it,” he said indulgently, strolling by your side.

You moved through stalls selling woven reed baskets, hand-dyed yukata, and carved jade amulets. The smells of grilling fish and blossom-scented steam from tea houses mingled in the air. Your smile was radiant.

Most villagers averted their eyes and scrambled away at the sight of his presence. But their fearful deference only seemed to amuse Sukuna as he guided you along.

Pausing by a fountain, you turned joyfully to him. “Thank you for this, My Lord. I haven’t felt this happy in…” Your voice trailed off as you noticed a young man staring from across the village square. His gaze was fixed on you, his handsome face breaking into a flirtatious grin, looking at you with his eyes signaling interest.

Before you could react, Sukuna had crossed the distance between them in two swift strides. You watched in horror as he seized the insolent youth by the throat and slammed him against a wall, baring razor fangs.

“You dare look at her that way?” he thundered. The young man choked out pleas for mercy as Sukuna’s grip tightened relentlessly.

“My Lord! Stop!” You rushed over, clutching his arm. “I beg you, let him go!”

With obvious reluctance, Sukuna released his hold and stepped back. The terrified man crumpled to the ground, wheezing with his face pale. You tugged Sukuna (he didn’t resist) away quickly as onlookers gaped.

Once you were back within the secluded forest path, he rounded on you. “Why did you stop me?” he demanded, eyes still burning with fury. “That whelp was openly desiring what is mine.”

You trembled. “He meant no true offense, My Lord.”

Sukuna exhaled harshly, drawing you against him. “You are too forgiving, little one. Next time I may not be so lenient.” The promise in his voice chilled you.

Nonetheless, in the days that followed, you persuaded him to let you visit the village markets again. Sukuna acquiesced, but his mood turned brooding whenever you went out together.

It was not long before a repeat incident occurred. A passing noble’s gaze lingered on you a moment too long. Sukuna's reaction was swift and merciless. Before you could intervene, the shrieking lord was engulfed in infernal flames, his ashes scattering to the wind.

This time, Sukuna was deaf to your pleas for restraint. “They continue testing me, presuming they can admire my possession with impunity,” he snarled. “I will suffer this insult no more.”

Numb with horror, you could say nothing as he took your arm and led you from that place of death.

Sukuna would never change his nature. His jealousy and possessiveness were as innate as the demonic power coursing through his veins. And you were helpless to curb them.

Trying to tame such a savage spirit had been foolish. Where his claim over you was concerned, no mercy would ever sway him.

The journey back to the estate was made in tense silence. You could feel the rage rolling off Sukuna in scorching waves as he strode ahead. His jaw was granite, fists clenched and shaking.

Only once you were behind the privacy of the chamber walls did he finally unleash it.

“How can you defend him?” he roared, making you flinch. “Those pathetic mortals who dared to covet what is not theirs. It is unacceptable!”

You stood your ground. “I make no defense, only ask that you temper reactions. This endless jealousy causes nothing but suffering.”

Sukuna’s eyes blazed, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. “You ask me to watch passively as they dishonor my claim on you? To permit their vulgar ogling?” He swept a hand savagely across a lacquered table, sending the vase crashing.

You jumped at the destruction but forced yourself to meet his volcanic glare. “I am not possession or prize to be claimed, My Lord. You cannot punish all for one foolish man’s gaze. I have told you this before, but I am not harmed.”

“Not harmed?” Sukuna bellowed, slamming his fists into the bloodwood pillar with a crack. “Not yet! But their desire will grow brazen if I do not act decisively now.”

He stormed toward you, making you back away instinctively. “You are mine. No other shall covet or touch what belongs to me. I would see this whole wretched village burn first.”

As his tirade raged on, you felt tears rising, spilling silently down your cheeks. The possessive diatribes, the limitless fury—you were exposing the folly of trying to gentle the devil’s heart.

Sukuna abruptly halted his pacing at the sight, chest heaving. His blazing eyes took in your hunched, trembling form. For an instant, something like shock flickered across his face. He blinked rapidly, swaying slightly.

“No… My little love…” All at once, the frenzied anger seemed to drain from him. He reached for you hesitantly, as if expecting you to recoil. When you stayed rooted, he enfolded you in his shaking arms.

“Forgive me,” Sukuna whispered. “I should not have raised my voice. But the thought of losing you…” One hand stroked your hair, then gently tipped your chin up. His thumb brushed away the tear tracks on your skin.

“You are everything to me in this wretched world,” he murmured. “I could not bear it if harm befell you.” His eyes were molten and his voice raw. “Tell me you know I would never let anything hurt you, not even myself in the madness of my rage.”

You searched his face and saw the sincerity burning there. With a fragile nod, you laid your head against his chest. His exhale was ragged with relief.

“I will try to be more merciful. For you, at least,” he sighs. “But you must understand it rages in my blood when I see them desire my most precious treasure.”

You stayed silent in his embrace. Perhaps this was the most he could concede—ferocity tempered with remorse. You could not change his possessive heart, only help him master what flowed within it.

And for now, it would have to be enough. His jealousy was a storm that would never fully be calmed. But like the storm’s eye, at the center there was still tenderness he reserved only for you.

Once more, the days dragged endlessly when Sukuna was away. You had explored every corner of the estate a dozen times over. The loneliness gnawed at you.

So when he left at dawn one morning, you made an impulsive decision. Donning a cloak, you slipped outside the manor walls while the servants slept. Your steps quickened as you neared the hill path leading down to the village.

You had only meant to take a brief, harmless walk to lift your spirits. But the smells of grilled squid and sweet adzuki buns drew you like a magnet. Your stomach rumbled, reminding you it had been ages since you tasted simple street food.

Checking over your shoulder, you darted to the nearest food stall when no one was looking. The elderly vendor smiled in delight as you pointed to the snacks that tempted you most. It felt deliciously naughty, this minor rebellion.

You were waiting for the bamboo skewer of piping hot squid when someone jostled you from behind. Whirling around angrily, you found yourself staring up at a rugged, unkempt man looming over you. His bloodshot eyes raked down your body in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Well now, what do we have here?” His words slurred drunkenly. “You’re that demon’s little toy, ain’t ya? His pretty pet.”

When you shrank away, the brute caught your wrist in a painful grip. Revulsion rose in you. “Let go of me!”

The man just sneered. “Where is your master now, hmm? Bet he doesn’t like you sneakin’ off alone.” He swayed closer, sour breath hot on your face. “Maybe I oughta teach you some manners, whore.”

Outraged tears stung your eyes. You opened your mouth to scream for help when suddenly the man’s hand was wrenched away from you with a sickening crack. His shriek split the air.

Whirling around, you saw Sukuna standing there, eyes blazing infernos. The man who had seized you was now suspended off the ground, clutching his mangled, dangling arm.

“Please, mercy!” he whimpered piteously. But Sukuna’s face was a merciless stone.

With a snarl, he slammed the offender down, pinning him by the throat. “You dare speak to her that way?” His voice was deathly quiet. “Dare lay your filthy hands upon her?”

The man gurgled pleas, legs kicking uselessly. Sukuna tightened his grip. “No. There will be no mercy for you.”

And before your eyes, he ripped the man’s head from his body in one savage motion. Blood sprayed hot across your face and cloak. The headless corpse slumped with a wet thud that echoed horribly in your ears.

You stood there, frozen. You’re sick to the stomach—it’s nauseating—looking at the brutal sight that your lover could do.

Rooted in shock, you barely registered Sukuna turning to you. He grasped your shoulders firmly. “Did he hurt you?” At your numb shake of the head, fiery rage flooded back into his eyes.

“Good. Because I would have drawn out his torment for years if he had.” With that, Sukuna flung the lifeless body contemptuously through the door of a nearby hut.

Screams arose from within as you stared at the gore coating Sukuna’s hands. The brutality finally jolted you from horrified paralysis. Voice trembling, you begged him to take you home.

The journey back was made in silence. Once behind the walls, Sukuna rounded on you like the last time.

“How could you go without my permission?” He paced like a caged beast. “See what nearly befell you? The filth who could do anything to you?”

You flinched beneath the verbal onslaught, too numb to defend yourself as he kept raging.

“You are forbidden from leaving again! Do you understand?” He seized your shoulders roughly. “It is too dangerous for you.”

You nodded, mute and hollow. With a harsh exhale, Sukuna pulls you against him as four of his arms envelop you in a warm embrace, some of the frantic anger leaving him.

“Forgive my harsh words, my little love. But I do not like you being treated like that.” His voice broke on the last word. He clutched you tighter, as if to reassure himself you were real.

After that day, whispers followed you through the residence like ghosts, for no clear reason. Servants offering polite smiles that never reached their eyes, only to resume their hushed gossip once you’d passed.

At first, you tried ignoring the sidelong glances and murmurs. But still, the cruel words leaked through.

“She is just a plaything to him.”

“Once the master is bored, she will be discarded.”

“He is only using her on the bed.”

“Once he tires of those pleasures, her time here will end.”

Their cruel words haunted you, sinking claws into vulnerabilities you’d buried deep. Did they speak the truth? Was your whole purpose here just to entertain Sukuna’s baser appetites? The thought you might be expendable shook you to your core.

You managed to conceal your anguish and distress at first. But the doubts festered, stealing your appetite and sleep. When Sukuna finally noticed the toll on your health, alarm flared in his eyes.

Gently taking your hands, he scoops you onto his lap, facing him. “What is bothering your pretty little head, hm? You know you can tell me anything.”

You shook your head, “It is nothing, My Lord. Not a big problem.”

“I do not like you lying to me, little one,” he shakes his head, not buying your secrecy.

“I am okay. Please, no need to be concerned about me.”

“How can I not? What is it? Tell me,” he holds your chin still to make you look at him.

Both of your stubborn banter goes back and forth until you’re both getting impatient.

You wavered, then spilled out the vile gossip you’d endured in silence. Sukuna listened gravely, thumb idly stroking your wrist. When you finished, he let out a long breath, gazing at you earnestly

“You believe their hateful lies? That you are some plaything to me? You know in your heart these claims are untrue.” He grasped your shoulders, staring intently into your eyes. “You are everything. Your faith in me is worth more than a million mortal lifetimes.”

He brought your hand to his chest, holding it over his steadily beating heart. “Do not let petty jealousies make you doubt what we share.”

Overwhelmed, you buried your face against him. “Forgive my doubts, My Lord,” you whispered.

“There is nothing to forgive. The fault is theirs, not yours.” Stroking your hair, he pressed a fierce kiss to your head. Then his tone turned cold. “As for these spiteful women, I will make them regret ever speaking such lies.”

You quickly squeezed his hands. “Please, do not harm them. I only wished to explain my melancholy, not see others punished.”

Sukuna frowned. “You ask me to ignore those who hurt you so? Who makes you doubt my devotion?” His grip on you tightened. “I cannot be so forgiving.”

“I know it comes from care,” you soothed. “But replying to anger with more anger will only breed misery.”

He paused, then exhaled harshly, pulling you close. Resting his forehead to yours, he went on. “I swear to you, my feelings run deeper than they comprehend.”

“Leave this to me now, little one. Just rest easy.”

True to his word, the gossip ceased quickly. You didn’t ask what Sukuna said or did to silence loose tongues. But the servants now bent over backward to please you, their once spiteful eyes now carefully respectful.

Their newfound reverence somehow bothered you more. But Sukuna seemed satisfied. “Let the wretches make amends for causing you pain,” he said nonchalantly.

Some part of you recoiled at his methods. Yet it warmed your heart to know he would avenge any slight against you without hesitation. Perhaps it was wrong to take comfort from his possessiveness.

But you needed to feel cherished after so much doubt. And Sukuna left no room for uncertainty in how deeply he treasured you. Each tender glance and touch slowly healed the wounds until you were whole again.

When he came to you beneath the silken sheets now, the passion held new meaning. A reaffirming of what you were to each other.

You were his sanctuary. Just as he was yours.

The gossip no longer stung when you knew his heart with such certainty.

Sukuna had told you he was taking a few days off to spend with you. With him home beside you for a blessed few days, the gloom cast over the estate seemed to lift. His four muscular arms caged you securely against his broad chest as you sank comfortably into his embrace.

He was attentive in ways you’d never seen before, constantly drawing you into his arms, asking questions about your childhood, your dreams, anything to get to know you better.

At first, you were shy, unused to being the object of such focused interest. But Sukuna’s patient gentleness soon had the words spilling freely from your lips.

You happily opened up to him in turn, chatting lightly about your days spent tending the garden, studying scripture with the monks, or watching the koi fish circle lazily in their pond. No detail was too small or mundane—he drank in every insight into your character with eyes that never once glazed in boredom.

He listened intently, his crimson eyes focused solely on you. As frightening as he could be, you knew this powerful being cherished you in his own way. You were likely the only person in the world he cared for.

When you finally worked up the courage to ask about his early life in turn, his gaze darkened briefly. “There is little of worth to tell,” he muttered.

He went on tonelessly to describe his parents casting him out as an infant, cursing his existence. Forced to eke out a living on the streets, he learned quickly that mercy was for the weak.

“I was not always like this,” he rumbled. “Once I was a human, born to parents who did not want me.” His fingers tensed where they rested on your back. “As an infant, they discarded me on the streets to die. But I survived, growing up feral and alone.”

You looked up at him sadly, heart aching at the thought of him helpless and abandoned with no one to care for him. You raised a hand to gently stroke his cheek.

Sukuna closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. “I do not tell you this for pity,” he said firmly. “My past made me strong.”

His eyes opened again. “When my cursed technique manifested, I used them without mercy, cutting down any who dared stand in my way. I reveled in my growing strength, the thrill of battle and blood... they satisfied me. I honed my skills until I became unmatched.”

You nodded solemnly. His description matched the legends told of the terrifying Ryomen Sukuna.

Now you know why he lacked mercy.

You take his hands in yours, kissing his palms. “The past is behind you now,” you told him. “What matters is who you choose to be from this day forth. My love for you is unconditional.” You smiled up at him warmly. “But I promise to teach you the ways of empathy and love, even if you protest.”

Sukuna huffed in amusement, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Little one, you may try, but do not expect miracles. I am what I am.” But his embrace around you was gentle, belying his words.

You poked his chest teasingly. “I will make it my mission to show you how wonderful love can be, the joys it brings to our lives.” Laughing, you added, “Just you wait, I will have you reciting poetry and picking wildflowers before long!”

“Hmph, do not get carried away,” he grumbled, but you could tell he was secretly pleased by your playful vow.

You cuddled against his chest, determined to shower this damaged soul with all the love and tenderness he had missed in his tragic early years.

The next morning, as soft sunlight filtered into the bedroom, you lay wrapped in Sukuna’s strong embrace. Your head rested on his muscular chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. His breathing was slow and even, still asleep.

You traced idle patterns on his bare skin, your fingertips grazing over the tattoos adorning his body. Your mind drifted back to the conversation from the night before when Sukuna had told you a bit of his past.

Abandoned and unloved, forced to survive on his own from infancy. Your heart ached for the small, helpless babe he had been. The thought of him growing up without affection or care weighed heavily on you.

You understood now why love and empathy were so foreign to him. But you were determined to show Sukuna what he had missed, to fill his long existence with the warmth and joy he deserved.

Your short mortal life worried you, however. Sukuna had lived for centuries, he would go on existing long after you passed on. Would he find someone new to love? How would losing you affect him? Immortal beings were not meant to give their hearts to fleeting humans.

You must have tensed in concern, because Sukuna began stirring, his four arms instinctively tightening around you. “What troubles you so early, little one?” his deep voice rasped, still groggy with sleep.

You tilted your head up to peer at him. “I was thinking about what you told me last night, about your past. My heart breaks imagining you alone as a child.”

He regarded you seriously. “It was long ago. Dwelling on what cannot be changed is pointless.”

“I know,” you murmured. “I only wish I could have cared for you then. But now I worry… what will happen when I am gone? My life is so short compared to yours. Will you find someone new to love?” Your voice caught on the last word as you averted your gaze. You weren’t sure you even wanted to hear the answer.

He was silent. When you worked up the courage to look at him again, his crimson eyes were looking at you intensely. With a swift, motion he flipped you beneath him, bracing his weight above you and capturing your face between his big hands.

“You think I could simply replace you when death takes you from me?” His thumb brushed your cheek tenderly. “No other has touched my soul as you have. Long was my existence before you, yet I was empty.” Leaning down, he touched his forehead to yours.

“Your fragile mortality may one day steal you from my side, but what we have cannot be replicated or replaced.” He lifted his head to gaze deeply into your eyes.

“When you are gone, I will be lost again. I accept that your life must end as mine continues.” His jaw clenched. “But I will find no peace with another. What we have is beyond replacement.”

Tears blurred your vision at his heartfelt words. You had not realized the depth of his attachment, that the absence of your love would leave him emotionally desolate.

You threw your arms around his broad shoulders. “Then we must make the most of the time we have,” you declared. “Fill our days with so much joy that you will carry the warmth of our love for eternity.”

Sukuna wrapped you tightly in his embrace. “Yes,” he agreed, nuzzling your neck. “I will cherish every precious moment with you, little one.”

His words made your heart clench, but you understood, he would never love another as he had you. Your lives were tragically misaligned, yet the love you shared transcended such limits.

You spent the day wrapped up in Sukuna, exchanging tender caresses, murmuring sweet nothings, strolling the grounds hand-in-hand. Every shared laugh, every affectionate glance was savored, imprinting your bond ever deeper.

As the sun sets in glorious color, you lay entwined together beneath the cover of a wisteria tree. Your head rested over Sukuna’s heart as he gently stroked your hair. His steady heartbeat and the rhythmic rise of his chest were deeply comforting.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” you whispered.

“As do I, little one,” he replied, his voice tinged with melancholy. “But we cannot halt the merciless passage of time.”

You leaned up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. “No matter how short my life, I am grateful every moment of it is spent with you.”

Sukuna cradled you close, distress evident in his eyes. “When I am alone again, I will find comfort in the memories we have.”

His grip on you tightened, as if he could hold you to this world through will alone. You tilted your head back to peer up at him. “And when I am gone, will you be okay?”

“I will endure it. As I have endured all hardship in my long life.” He traced his thumb lightly down your cheek. “It will not feel the same, my little love. But do not worry about me, I will be fine.”

Your heart clenched at the raw honesty in his normally stoic demeanor. On impulse, you stretched up to press a soft kiss to his lips. Sukuna went still for a heartbeat before responding in kind, lips moving gently against yours.

“Then do not dwell on the inevitable end,” you cup his face in your hands. “Think only of how much we mean to each other now. If my love can sustain you even a little while after I am gone, that will be enough.”

Sukuna pressed his forehead to yours. “I will brace it when the time comes. But for now, my world is only you.”

You kissed him tenderly, then settled against his chest once more. Bittersweet joy swelled your heart, knowing you had brought some warmth into Sukuna’s grim existence. Though fleeting and painfully finite, your mortal love was a balm to his ancient, scarred soul.

The years passed swiftly. Sukuna remained your steadfast companion as you grew from a young woman into old age. He was always there to hold you close, whisper endearments, make you laugh with his wit.

In the blink of an eye, your hair became streaked with silver. Your smooth skin wrinkled and your energy waned. But your love never faded.

Sukuna stayed by your side as you grew frail, cradling you tenderly through restless nights, patiently spoon-feeding you broth when eating became difficult. His eyes reflected centuries of sadness knowing your time grew short.

Finally, you lay weakly upon your futon as he stayed close by your side. Your breathing turned ragged and a violent cough wracked your body. He gathered you gently into his arms.

“The end is near, my little one,” he murmured, smoothing back your thin hair.

You gave him a quivering smile. “I am ready. Just stay with me, please.”

He pressed his lips to your wrinkled forehead. “Always.”

You spent your final moments gazing up at his face, etched into your mind after so many years together. His image would be the last you saw in this life. With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes for the final time.

Sukuna let out a broken noise, pulling you tightly to his chest as your body went limp. Rocking your still form, he wept for the first time in his long existence. Anguished sobs wracked his powerful frame.

He had known this moment would come, yet nothing could have prepared him for the sheer devastation of losing you. It felt as though part of his soul had been ripped away.

Sukuna had guarded your mortal form night and day in those final years. Now you slipped away before his eyes, leaving him utterly alone. The crushing pain made him understand the human concept of a “broken heart”.

But he took comfort knowing you had passed peacefully in his embrace. The only mercy was that you were spared a drawn-out decline. He had filled your short life with as much love as one man could give. He has known you for a short time compared to how you’ve known him for most of your life.

Wiping his eyes, Sukuna pressed final kisses to your cooled skin. He would honor you with a funeral befitting royalty. Then he must decide where to wander next. This place held too many haunting memories now.

Sukuna laid you gently on the futon and stood. He cast one last anguished look at your still face.

“My beloved…” he whispered. “No other shall ever take your place.”

Then he turned and strode from the room, jaw clenched against a fresh onslaught of grief. His steps were heavy with the unbearable burden of immortality and loss.

No, he doesn’t cremate you despite having the ability to do so. He doesn’t even want to think of burning you to ashes, or he might as well lose it and burn the world with it for taking you away too soon.

He buried you beneath the cherry tree where you’d spent so many blissful hours in his arms. He marked the site with a stone monument etched with his promise:

“In this life or the next, you are mine. None will ever love you as I have, little one.”

His task complete, Sukuna wandered for many years after. Though the sharp pain dulled to a persistent ache, the emptiness inside him never abated. He fulfilled his promise and took no other lovers, knowing they could only ever be hollow substitutes.

He will wait until his time comes no matter how long it takes to see you again in the afterlife.

He will wait long enough to see you reborn and claim you one more as his.

But the thing he knows for sure, you will always belong to no one but him.

I got emotional and carried away, I’m sorry 😭😭

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch. 4: Black Out Days

Ao3 | Previous - Next | Masterlist

Vampire!Poly 141 x Fem!Fat!Reader

MDNI | cw: sickness, hallucinations, injury, some light dubcon

Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life. Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate.

A/N: the tone of this story has sort of shifted as I’ve worked on the next few chapters/plot points. I hope it’s not too jarring, but I’m excited for the direction it’s going in.

Your mother rises out of her drunken stupor - spine too straight and head flopped back limply. As if her hips are the only thing capable of moving and her neck has snapped at every ligament. The worn sheets pool around her hips, torn neckline of her nightclothes exposing her gaunt, bruised collar bones.

She says your name in that sickening, gruff voice of hers. A voice too exposed to the poisons outside. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth, coats her teeth as she speaks. Black and viscous. “Oh, darling, what have you gotten yourself into?”

You’re small. A child kneeling by her bed like you always did, waiting for her to ask you to bring her water or pain pills. “What?”

“It’s easier if you give in.”

People aren’t buried anymore. There isn’t room. Your mother’s urn is painfully cold in your hands. You stumble as the train lurches. A new voice hisses above you. Wild eyes and big hands that leave clawing, bloodied stripes in their wake down your body. A flash of blonde, some sort of scar. An accent so old you don’t recognize it.

“It’s easier if you give in, little girl.”

You fall back, out of the train doors and onto something soft and silky. For a few beats you stay there, in the quiet. In the dark. Comfortable in a way so deeply foreign to you it might as well be alien. Until some thick cover pulls away from your face. John grins down at you, shirtless with his head resting on his hand and elbow on the pillow below him.

“Knew you were awake.”

You rub your eyes. “Wh- when did- when did I get here?”

He frowns, a deep crease forming in his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve…” You run a hand through your sleep tangled hair. “I don’t know…”

“It could be so easy, Fancy.” He murmurs, voice low and far away. “It doesn’t have to be… this.”

“I can’t…” Something complicated swirls in your chest. A twisting of guilt and love and unadultered disgust.

The world shifts. You’re standing, now. Simon leans on the railing of the penthouse balcony, staring out at the city. He takes up so much space. Envelopes you without even touching you. “How many memories do you think a person can lose before they’re someone else entirely?”

“What?” You frown. There’s an ache in your head - a drumming pain growing more intense by the second. Your bones rattle along to the rhythm.

“It’d be so easy…”

You peel your eyes open only slightly. It hurts, as if they’ve been glued shut. An offensive light blazes in your face. It takes a moment before you realize the tingle on your skin comes from the UV lamp beside you. Did you fall asleep under it again? No matter how hard you blink your vision won’t clear. When you finally manage to swallow it feels like your throat has been lined with shards of glass.

You grope around the bed uselessly, hands unsure. The edge of the bed takes longer to get to than it should. With a low groan you crawl to the edge, barely managing to swing your legs over. Well, swing is a generous description. In reality you end up on your back on the floor, head thunking against some sort of plush rug or carpet. Your vision swims.

With another groan you slowly pull yourself up into a shaky stance. Wherever you are, it’s big. The bed you fell out of is easily a king with richly woven sheets and a thick comforter. The rug on the floor has such intricate patterns it makes your pounding head dizzy. There’s even a fireplace in the far corner, unlit at the moment.

Something different catches your eye - an item too familiar for this foreign room. Your box of valuables sits on an elegantly carved wooden dresser. Real, actual wood. You run your fingers over the strangely organic material, so rare that it almost feels more unnatural than the plastic plywood you’ve grown accustomed to in the slums.

You limp weakly toward the heavy door on the far wall. A whine escapes you as you pull it open, the heavy wood causes the hinges to creak quietly. You poke your head out, walking down the empty hall like a person with decade long atrophy. Sweat drips down your back, the sickness in your gut turning to anxiety as you realize where you are.

The penthouse.

Voices waft through the mostly open central area - deep and growling. A sound you might mistake for an angry beast if it weren’t for the intelligable words the noise makes up.

“Bloody ‘ell, Price, what the fuck?” That baritone could only belong to Simon. You poke your head around the corner of the wall, peaking into the living room where the four vampires stand.

“I know, I fucking know. I couldn’t-” An exasperated sigh. “I couldn’t lose her again.”

“So you fuckin’ marked ‘er?”

Your hand lifts shakily to the still sore cuts on your neck. They’ve scabbed over but barely. The action makes you look down at your hands - neatly bandaged. Recently, too, you think. At least if your blurred vision is to be believed.

“We’ll lose ‘er anyway if you fuckin’ scare ‘er away!” Simon’s volume continues to grow. He steps forward. John doesn’t back away.

“Guys…” Kyle tentatively steps in, hands outstretched between them as if stepping into a dog fight. He might as well be, frankly.

“You promised her you wouldn’t!” Simon’s voice wavers. It makes your heart skip, the unsteady sound so bizarre coming from him. “We all did!”

“Simon’s right.” Johnny crosses his arms. “We said we’d take our time. See where she’s at.”

“Weren’t exactly taking your time when you fucked her raw were you?” John snaps back. It’s shockingly childish and out of character for the man. Not that you would know. He sighs, rolling his wide shoulders. So much for not being angry about it.

Before you can make heads or tails of the scene playing out in front of you, your vision blackens, one leg stiffening and the other giving out. You barely catch yourself on some random side table, knocking it against the wall in the process. Despite your efforts to hold yourself up you collapse onto the cold, hardwood floor.

“Oh, baby girl.” It’s Kyle at your side first, cool hands tenderly enveloping you as he checks for damage.

“Don’t…” You push at his chest weakly. “Don’t touch me…”

“Dove-” A crack sounds throughout the penthouse, deafening and ringing as Simon’s palm comes into contact with John’s chest, forcing the man back a few steps.

“You’ve done enough.”

There’s a moment, long and silent as you watch them stare each other down. A power struggle. John is the head of the coven, objectively. The only way to change that is an exchange of power. A death. You’ve seen it out on the streets within lesser covens. Simon is bigger, but you can see the cold, dogmatic shift in John’s eyes. The look he gave you in the car. The one that says he is well and truly Right and there is nothing to stand between him and what is Right.

The moment ends when you double over, lungs heaving as you choke and cough. A slimy, viscous glob of red-black comes up from your throat. Barely liquid with the thickness of it. You fall limply against Kyle, as much as you’d rather be left in a dark alley than with these psychopaths your body just can’t hold itself up.

Someone scoops you up, pressing you tightly to their chest. Johnny or Kyle, you think. A touch so soft and sweet you might mistake it for love. Not that you would know. You’re back under the wave of nothing before you even touch the sheets.

You sit still as you can, arm growing tired of the stiff angle you have it positioned in. Laid out across some old loveseat that creaks every time you move even slightly. You don’t trust it to not have at least a little dry rot considering it’s from a good few centuries ago. One of those random pieces John hoards for some secret reason. The light positioned carefully above you feels too warm, discomfort making you twitchy.

“Johnnyyy!” You whine. “Hurry up!”

“Ye can do it, bonnie. Just sit like me.” He goes still. Inhumanly still. Transitioning from living (well, undead) being to a marble statue in barely a second. It sends a frightened shiver down your spine - the prey instinct in your hindbrain moving into overdrive.

You take a shaky breath. “I hate when you do that.”

When he does what? Has he done that before? Have you been here before?

“Jus’ be a good lass f’me.” Johnny murmurs. A different sort of shiver runs down your spine.

You recognize his room but it’s… different. Lighter, somehow, than the last time you were here. The only time you were here. The wall has far more drawings tacked to it, nearly doubling the amount and bleeding across onto another side of the room. You squint. It’s you. Well, mostly. All in different poses, some more salacious than others, each carved out with a deep attention to detail. Were… were those there before? They couldn’t have been.

Your body lights up, the room grows darker. Nearly pitch black. Your hips roll lazily. You feel… good. Ecstatic. The warmth from the light replaced by an immeasurable heat. The man below you comes into focus as the dream settles - a mountain. Blonde and pale and scarred. Part of his right ear is clipped off from a fight. At least you think it was a fight. His hair just barely long enough for you to tangle your fingers in. You’d know those dark eyes anywhere - the ones that look right to the very core of you. That know you wholly from Eve.

“Fuck, Si…”

“Tha’s my girl.” He grins. The action pulls at a scar covering his lips. “Always so good f’me.”

The hands on your waist lift you like nothing. Like you weigh as much as paper and are just as delicate. A burning fills you, a tension that pulls a grating whine from your chest.

A distant part of you remembers to question what this is. Why you’re here, with him. Why you’ve never seen his face before but seem to know every detail of it by heart. The rest of you falls into the moment without a care, allowing yourself to be consumed entirely by him and his desire. It’s all you want - all you need.

Simon’s voice rumbles in a sort of call and response to your devoted babbling. “I love you.”

You jolt, snapping forward and sloshing water around you. For a moment, you panic that you’re drowning. That you’ve been dropped into some great sea and left to flounder.

There’s a quiet rumble behind you, vibrating through your back. Simon. You couldn’t make out whatever he said.

You relax instinctively. Some unconcious part of you falls back into him. Until he runs a soap rag over your chest and you tense, clumsily attempting to cover yourself and curl into a ball. The water sloshes over the edge of the tub again. You don’t get very far, despite the massive size of the bath you’re utterly surrounded. Bracketed by Simon’s strong thighs and large hands.

“None of that.” He barks, pulling your arms back to continue washing you. “You’ve been sweatin’ in bed for four days. Gonna make y’self worse.”

Four days? Worse?

You stay quiet, limp and pliant as he pours a hefty glob of shampoo into your hair. Vanilla. Far too exhausted to put up any sort of fight. Not that you would win. It feels good, if you’re honest, the way he systematically scrubs every part of your scalp, slowly detangling with conditioner. You nod off for a moment, coming back when he pours water over your head to rinse you.

“Simon?” You murmur weakly.

He grunts.

“Why am I here?”

The hands in your hair pause. Only for a moment before going back to their gentle movements. “Because you’re ‘ome.”

You shiver, another coughing fit wracking your body. At least nothing comes up this time. There aren’t bandages on your hands, just the scabbing wounds that have obviously been carefully tended to. Even as the coughing subsides your breaths wheeze, shallow and hollow in your chest.

When you were young, your mother would set you in a cart to walk to the supermarket. The cracked streets would bump and rock you uncomfortably but it was better than walking all those miles. You always hated the market. Too loud and confusing. A maze of sterile white tile and shelving so high it felt giant to you.

One time you lost her, distracted by a massive plushie that she said you can’t afford. You’d stood there staring at it, angrily contemplating why you couldn’t afford it. What sort of societal disservice had been done that you can’t have that bright pink creature. Angry and lost you ended up wandering the aisles for what felt like an eternity. Walking through that white void in search of… you’re not really sure what, actually.

That confusion continues to eat at your mind as the aisles transition into a small, lush greenhouse. The UV lights above you would burn, if it weren’t for the large hat covering your head and shoulders. Gardening gloves protect your hands as you carefully harvest a few tomatoes. They came in so well this year, bright and firm.

You’re lost in it. The green. So accustomed to grays and neon lights that it feels unnatural. You turn your gloved hands over, palm up, down, up, down. They’re yours but distant. As if you’ve possessed some alternate version of yourself. You suppose you have, in a way, if these fever dreams are in pattern. Not that you remember the others well.

The lights turn off suddenly and you freeze, muscles tensing and hackles raising. You turn slowly as the door begins to creak open, trowel in hand. Not that it would do much against whoever has you cornered. John said to be wary.

He’s been acting strange lately.

Isn’t he always?

A hand clamps over your mouth and you shriek behind it. You claw at the stony hand covering you, instinct taking over. Adrenaline pulses through you.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.” Kyle coos, letting you go quickly. “Sorry, love, I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t do that!” You snap, harsher than you meant. Or less so?

He deflates a bit, shoulders sagging. “Sorry, I just wanted to come in here with you for a bit.”

“Why?” You snort. Kyle is the only one brave enough to venture in. Even with an external light switch, the others are far too wary of the UV lights hanging across the roof to enter. It’s a joke between Simon and Johnny - that they’ll throw Johnny into the greenhouse if he doesn’t behave.

Kyle nods, scooting forward. You can barely make him out, the only light being that of the faux stars drifting gently through the fogged greenhouse glass. “Missed you.”

“I saw you, like, five minutes ago.” Did you?

He shakes his head. You wish they would tell you more. They always hold back so much, as if your puny human brain can’t grasp what they think. You could. You’d learn to. Even if it was some horrid, eldritch secret you would bear it for them. He pushes you back until you’re laying on the floor, slowly resting his weight on you and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Just let me stay like this for a bit.”

You frown, but only move to reach up and pet his hair. It’s smells like vanilla. He stole your shampoo again. A fraction of you screams, rails against the idea of being this close to an apex predator. To a man you don’t know. Strange. You know Kyle. You love him. Both the fear and the fondness swirl together into a confusing mixture in the back of your mind.

“We can stay. For as long as you want.”

Something heavy and cold coils around you. You weren’t out as long this time, you think. If you’re even awake now. The room is dark. A pitch black void that you float in outside of the grounding weight holding you in place. That vanilla scent felt so real, still wafting through your nose. A nagging sense of despair settles in your chest as it dissipates.

“Need t’go home.” You croak, unsure of why you say it. Your tongue feels heavy and numb. God only knows why.

“Ye are home.” Johnny murmurs in your ear, voice low.

“Not m’bed… sheets’r t’nice.”

“It’s yers.” Johnny’s arms tighten around you. His voice shakes. “It’s always been yers.”

“N-no…”

“Knew it was tae soon tae bring you back.” He buries his face between your shoulder blades. “Told Kyle it’d be tae much.”

“Wh-”

“Ye make us such a mess, bonnie.” He sighs. “Cannae believe Price-“

Johnny cuts himself off. You can’t find it in yourself to argue or press. A sob wracks you out of nowhere. Something about Johnny, about being wrapped up in his strong arms sends you over the edge of it all. The weight of him mimics the one in your chest.

“Dinnae cry.” Johnny sits up a bit, running a thumb under your eye.

“I’m s-so confused-“ You sob. “I can’t- I-“

Somewhere in the midst of your crying fit the bed dips in front of you. Kyle cages you in between himself and Johnny, pressing you tightly in the center. It makes you want to thrash, to fight and scream.

It also feels so, so good.

You’re back in the slums, in your apartment, with some random man groaning above you. He works down the street, you think. Smiles at you whenever you go get a coffee or cigarettes. You stare at the ceiling blankly. You brought him here… why did you bring him? What- You hiss at the living heat of his hands, burning through your skin - gut churning at the blue of his eyes. It’s wrong. Neither bright nor tranquil enough. You can’t voice it. Can’t place it. They’re just wrong.

You catch a flash of dark irises as you take drinks to some slimy little vampire paying on credit. Immortal but still poor. Pathetic. Suddenly, though, you don’t care when he and his friends grab at you, your gaze trained on the man lounged in a booth on the other side of the club. You can’t stop staring at him, something tugging at you deep down to go to him. His eyes connect with yours, and you nearly leap with joy when he waves you over.

Except, when you get close, you freeze in place. Straddling his lap, a crushing weight lands on you all at once. They’re not what you’re looking for…

What are you looking for?

You sob in your bed late into the night, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. You’re so lost. So hollow. You don’t know why - don’t understand what changed. Some portion of you carved out into nothing. A soulless tulpa born of someone’s imagination. You can’t be human, there’s no way you can be human and this empty. A walking carcass. Not even undead, just barely animated. A puppet, almost.

It’d be so easy…

You wake in a fog this time, limbs heavy. As much as you try to will your arms to move, they won’t quite do it right. Your hands glide over the soft fabric around you, barely moving a few inches. The muscles twitch and shake. It feels like wading through molasses and with a thousand pounds of steel strapped to your back as you attempt to sit up even slightly.

“There she is.” A familiar voice murmurs. It’s soft, comforting, but also incredibly far away. “Hey, lovie.”

“Kyle?” You croak. You might as well be speaking around a massive ball of cotton. There’s something hot and wet streaming down your face. Are you crying?

“You’re alright.” He murmurs, soothing down your hair. Petting you like a dog in pain. An injured, feral animal.

You collapse back on the bed - not that you made it that far in the first place - unable to see more than a few feet in front of you. Kyle, really. Kyle is all you can make out. His face so vivid you’re sure you could draw it from memory. “Where am I?”

He pauses. “…Your room.”

“M’chest hurts…”

“I know, lovie. We’ll make it better.”

“What’d y’do t’me…?” Your vision flashes in and out. You’re going back under, as hard as you try to fight it. The edge just comes closer. You teeter on your heels.

“You just breathed in some bad air. You’ve been out for… a while.” Somehow, you get the sense that what he says is an understatement. That there are layers he has to hold back. Simon said four, you remember, though you can’t quite define if that was real or a dream.

“I hate you.” You whisper, barely audible. “I hate all of you.”

“I know.” Kyle sighs, continuing to run his fingers through your hair. “I know.”

Teeth sink into you. A choked gasp escapes your lips, body stiffening and hands knotting into some thick cloth. The pain is searing but fleeting. A part of you, the present part of you, feels disgusted. Wants to shake and batter whatever parasite has you caught in its maw. Another part, a far more distant piece of you that you aren’t even sure is you, blossoms with warmth. You melt into the strong arms that hold you against a cool chest.

“John?” You murmur. Or, rather, this other you murmurs.

A low groan reverberates from his chest to yours. Your head gets lighter, vision fuzzy around the edges. A hand clamps over the bloodied parts of your neck. Your vision fractures, partially the scene in front of you and partially the ceiling of your room that isn’t your room. Your lashes flutter and you’re back loosely straddling John’s lap.

“Yes, love?” He pants, mouth and teeth stained red. It sends a wave of panic through your veins.

You swallow roughly. “I don’t-”

Something shatters - the staccato sound reverberating through the apartment.

You startle, sitting up and throwing your blankets back. The bed is empty, room dark except for the few embers trapped in the fireplace off to the side. You don’t notice the box missing from your dresser.

“Hello?” You frown, standing and moving toward your door as if possessed by some external force. As if you at all know where you are going. Your bare feet pad quietly against the hard wood, door silently sliding open a fraction.

There’s another smashing sound. Your heart rate spikes, fear coursing through your veins. No one’s home - they left days ago. On business.

How do you know that?

Suddenly you’re in the living room of the apartment, crouched behind the couch and groping underneath for one of the silver daggers stashed around in various hiding spots. An insurance policy. Your breath comes in short, rapid gasps. You have to get out. Get downstairs. There’s security down there. They’ll help you, they know you.

How do they know you? How did you know the knife was there?

With the small dagger gripped tightly in your fist, you flinch at another smash. It came from John’s room across the apartment, another following right after. It sounds like this person (or people) tore his metal bed-frame apart. Splintered into pieces.

You take the opportunity to carefully move toward the front exit, allowing the noise to cover the sound of your movements. Damn the open concept design. You told John you didn’t like it. Breaths come in faster and shallow. You’re not built for running - too soft from all that pampering. A chubby, well loved pet. Not that you’re complaining. It’s just not the best for this particular moment.

A figure moves at lightening speed from John’s room to Kyle’s. You duck down behind the kitchen counter, covering your mouth to stifling the sound of your breath.

“I can smell ya.” A low voice taunts, echoing through the apartment. Fortunately, your scent is everywhere. It will take longer to distinguish where you are in particular than he may think.

Why is your scent everywhere again?

There’s more tearing and smashing. A door groans loudly as the intruder tears it off the hinges. More shattering. Your heart breaks a little - that must have been Kyle’s pottery. Oh he worked so hard on those. Some of them are from a century ago.

Anger begins to boil up your spine. Who is this fuck who thinks he can just wreck your home? Someone you know, for sure. He would have had to be invited in at some point. With a sneer you continue making your way through the penthouse, toward the front door. John’s going to rip this fucker in two when he gets back.

Except, just as you’re reaching for the front door, the vampire exits Kyle’s room. You meet his eyes - glinting in the dark of the hall. There’s barely a beat before you begin to rush, opening the door as fast as you can.

Not fast enough, of course. You’re only human, after all.

A scream rips it’s way through your throat as you connect with the far wall, knife clattering who knows where. Something broke, you’re not sure what. Every nerve ending seems to light on fire as you try to sit up. Your arm doesn’t move more than a twitch when you try to stand.

“Hey there, little girl.” The man pins you suddenly. You get the nagging sense that you know him, his name on the tip of your tongue. Buried somewhere under lock and key in your mind.

You thrash, punching at his chest and tearing at his hair. To no avail, of course. He just lets you, a cruel grin spreading wider and wider the harder you try to get away.

“What do you want!” You finally sob, going limp when your body finally gives out under pain and exertion.

“To destroy John’s coven. Obviously.” He huffs. “Yer step one.”

The vampire grabs your jaw in an iron grip, your teeth crack under the pressure as his pupils dilate. They’re bright - so blue and infinite and you can’t look anywhere else no matter how hard you try.

A clarity washes over you almost violently as you come to - like breaking through the surface of water after staying under too long. Everything from yo ur time under washing away, sinking back into the deep. A forgotten wreckage - old and twisted and grown over. Another lost Atlantis somewhere in the depths of your mind.

“John?” The name falls from your lips before you even realize you’re speaking, before his face comes into focus. Soft and familiar - comforting and enraging.

“Right here, dove.” He murmurs, dabbing your face with something damp and cool.

“Wh…” You swallow roughly, not entirely sure what you even want to say. So any words threaten to spill from your lips and yet your mind feels blank. All fuzz and static.

You want to beg him to let you go. To keep you forever. To tell you why he brought you here despite the ever nagging sense that you know why. Something deep in your marrow that connects you to this place - to these men - at the very soul. You are theirs and they are yours and you want nothing more than to run from them as far as you can go.

Those blue eyes focus on yours, so oddly gentle for all of their inhuman qualities. “We’ll talk when you’re better, okay?”

Talk about what? There isn’t anything to talk about. You don’t know them and they don’t know you, no matter what that tugging in your chest tells you. You’ve lied to yourself before - you’ve lied to others before - surely you’re just doing it again. This man hurt you. Marked you, whatever that means, so why do you still melt into his touch?

Your name falls from his lips, reverent and frightening. You blanch, eyes wide and mouth falling open. You didn’t tell him that. You didn’t-

“Just sleep for now, yeah?”

~~~

John watches intently as you fall back asleep. There was panic in your eyes for a moment, but your sick body can’t do much more than drift in an out of consciousness. You look more peaceful this time, at least, your breathing even and your body still. You’d been thrashing before, for what reason he isn’t sure. The lower city’s poison air does a number on the body, it’s effects only growing worse as time goes on and the pollution becomes more dense.

He did that, didn’t he? He left you and now you’re sick and hurt. John runs his fingers over the Mark, nearly entirely healed now. Just two small, faded marks that will follow you to the grave.

“I’m so sorry. I just keep failing you, don’t I?” He sighs. You always said he was a good man even when he didn’t believe it. Even with all the things he’s done. Would you still agree?

John‘s eyes sting. He’d be crying if he was human, surely.

He glances at the door. The others are out - taking care of business while he watches over you. The world doesn’t stop even when you need it to desperately. It took Johnny and Kyle nearly dragging Simon away to leave you alone with him.

He takes your hands in his, guilt wrecking him. They’re so much smaller, so much warmer. He can feel your pulse in every fingertip. Surely he’s ruined any chance to fix this before they could even try. He wouldn’t blame Simon if the man decided there needed to be a change - that John needs to be removed. He wouldn’t fight it.

John crawls into bed beside you like he’s done so many times before. Nestles under your pink silken sheets - the ones you picked out for Christmas. That was years go, now. Over two. Two tortorous, draining years that felt longer than the past six hundred.

He ran for days. Weeks maybe. Tearing through the city block by block, dodging and weaving between people and buildings alike. Speaking to anyone, using up every connection and resource he ever gained under this damned dome. It took a week to get through the sewer system.

No one knew where you went.

No one heard a thing. At least, nothing they would admit to. Even under compulsion.

You were gone, just like that.

Two years go by in the blink of an eye for a vampire. Might as well be a day, a night, a handful of hours. Time in such small increments is nothing to an immortal. Decades are barely enough to measure with. Not for them, though. Every second drug on. The days were long and tense.

A fracture formed between them. Kyle retreated into himself - quiet and frayed around the edges. Sometimes John caught him with a far away look in his eye, staring at nothing. He thinks Kyle would have been crying in those moments if he could. Johnny became far too unpredictable. Ripping and tearing any lower level vampire he can find. He spent a few months hunting Frenzies in the lower city without contact.

And Simon…

Simon turned into a fucking nightmare.

After the first year, they at least hoped to find your body. After the second anniversary of your disappearance came around, they gave up. The guilt of giving up brought a whole new wave of grief on them. Johnny laid in your bed for weeks, nearly beginning to petrify as he denied any blood. John couldn’t blame him, opting to re-read your favorite books with shaking hands. Simon fished your last knitting project, eyes heavy and tired. Kyle meandered listlessly through the house, sometimes laying with Johnny but most often sequestering himself in the now empty greenhouse.

They try to fill the hole with pretty girls that look sort of like you. Never enough and they never act like you. Too busy placating to snap at them like you were so willing to do. These others are only place fillers - something to take up the space you left between them. They could never truly fill it, though. It was far too great. A chasm that continues to swallow the four of them whole.

He’s so tired. The others were, too. Kate handled business well enough but their involvement was still required. Each issue and event weighing on them more and more. Kingpins of the city and they’ve been nearly ruined by the loss of a single girl. A single, human girl. None of it mattered in the face of what they lost.

John looks up, the pin-drop silence in the room bringing his attention back to the present.

And there you are.

Like Lazarus returned. An angel bathed in low, red light. Your hair spills around your shoulders framing that face he knows so well, one he’s held more times than he can count. A face that made him pray to a god he does not believe in every day to get back. Just once. Those unmistakable pearls grace your neck, the ruby latch glinting as you twist your neck and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I’ll be your Companion tonight.” You say so softly. Almost the way you used to, laid up in his bed, whispering about nothing and everything with your fingers running through his hair. Asking about the things he’s seen with such awe.

“What happened t’ Cherry?” Kyle asks faux casually. John can feel the tension in the man next to him. He’s feeling it out - always so good at that. Better at human subtleties than the rest of them. His dark eyes sparkle, though, with a light John hasn’t seen in so long. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed it.

“She was unfortunately unable to come in tonight.” You slide the tray onto the table. You look the same. You sound the same. There’s a few new scars, some scratches here and there. A wariness in your eyes that wasn’t there before. Damage done to your skin that could only come from the lower city air.

Where have you been?

You shift nervously. “If I’m not to your standards-“

“Well, now, none of us said that.” John says far too quickly, smiling despite himself. It might not even be you. Maybe a doppelganger. A distant relative. A clone is more plausible. “What’s your name, dove?”

“Fancy.” And oh, John is sure his dead heart comes back to life. It is you. It has to be.

“Fittin’.” Johnny says, eyes raking over you. He might as well be vibrating, struggling to keep himself held back from yanking you into his hold.

They’re all measuring you up the same way he is. Feeling for anything unfamiliar. Outside of your distant, distrustful gaze with a lack of recognition that makes his chest ache, it’s you. It’s all you.

“Do you know who we are?” Simon murmurs. You’re having trouble looking at him, only meeting his gaze in small glances. Not so different from when they first met you. You and Simon have always had a certain… connection. Not that you weren’t all close - that they all didn’t love you deeply - but you and Simon had an understanding. He wonders if you can still feel it somewhere, deep down in the back of your mind.

You’re panicking a little, eyes flitting between their faces. John’s heart sinks. He feels it in the others. A deep disappointment - a turbulent melancholy- seeping into their bodies. You don’t know them. You don’t recognize a single one of them.

It’s all gone.

“It’s not a trick question.” Kyle says gently, ever one to soothe.

“No, sir.”

John’s heart breaks all over again.

A/N: My initial summary for this one was just “Fancy tripping balls on pollution while John and co. have a meltdown”

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I know we're all focused on Satyr/Faun König but that bull comment... I'm quite partial to minotaur's and whats better than a darling who isn't from the area. Oh yes she's innocent of the crimes against König because she was not raised there.

Some foreign little creature just running blind in a maze trying to see where there might be a way out. It's been days after all and the screaming has gotten quieter and she wonders if she's the last one left alive. He takes his time eating his meals... this can be stretched out for such a long time as she hides herself in a dead end just a short rest... the darling is so tired unaware of the horrifyingly silent steps moving closer to her little haven. It's just her left now.

@kit-williams I've wanted to write for Minotaur!König for ages!

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Word count: 5 k oneshot Tags/warnings: Sexual tension, threats of violence and rape, implied cannibalism, power imbalance, moral ambiguity. Predator/prey dynamic, Beauty and the Beast elements, Ancient Greek religion & lore. 18+ MDNI A/N: The Minotaur in this story is not an actual hybrid. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Merry Christmas y'all! <3

EDIT: PART 2 HERE

The screams are the worst part.

They echo through the Labyrinth while you wait and wait and wait.

Even the very stones seem to cry and wail as you place your hope on Theseus who descended to this hell along with you and the human cattle. Seven young men and seven unwed women, meant to satisfy a beast...

And judging by the screams alone, it sounds like the monster is satisfied. It sounds like it's having a ball.

Fourteen lives have been lost, their blood swallowed by the earth as if Hades himself is drinking the crimson of Athenian youth in His feast. The flesh is the beast’s to devour: an underworld demon born of tainted lust.

Half bull, half man, you always thought the stories were only tales told by the fire to scare children. Turns out that the stories, for once, are true. There's something even worse in this maze, something cursed and foul... Hecate herself would shiver if She were here, in the womb of the earth, witnessing what you’re witnessing now.

You don’t actually see the Bull of Crete cut or hack or slash anyone, and you can only imagine what the monster does to the bloody, gutted corpses of the young. The only thing you see are the hollow, dark walls carved out of soil, sand, and clay, the intestine-like route dug deep into the earth. And you don't have to see the massacre: the screams tell you enough. The silence that follows betrays even more.

Your only light is flickering, waning: the candle will hardly last an hour. If the hero from Athens won’t arrive soon, you will have to leave this place. 

And oh, how you want to leave… You were a fool to follow him here. Blinded by love and hope, you thought Theseus of Athens would be your way out of Crete, but it’s clear that the only thing the young hero is capable of loving is fame. The only time his eyes turned to yours was when you said you might be able to help him with a small bundle of yarn.

Red as the setting sun or spilling blood, the thin woollen string is your only way out now. It’s ironic how a heap of twine is the only thing that can help you out of this hellhole, but the Fates always did possess a cruel sense of humour. Your silly daydreams might’ve cost your life, and even if you’re sworn to the dark goddess, you would rather die anywhere but here. In the darkness, all alone, with nothing but eyeless worms to keep company to your decaying bones.

The sudden draft from the outside world is warm but threatens to blow out your candle. It’s a sign from Apollo: if you don’t leave now, you’re dead. Theseus has to manage without you because you’re not dying in this underworld prison because of some man’s stupid lust for fame.

There's only deafening silence in the maze as you scurry up, taking support from the wall as your sight darkens for a moment. You rose too soon: you can’t even remember the last time you ate. And it appears that even the sun god has abandoned you because there's a faint echo of steps in the tunnel, and they don’t belong to a man. They’re too thick, unduly heavy, and it’s not a pair of sandals that are thumping against the soil.

So, Theseus is dead...

So much for the legend, the myth, the demigod.

Heart thumping in your chest and in the hollow of your throat, it threatens to drown the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re all dead, the people who descended here with you. The only thing you are right now is prey. You're being hunted; whether the Minotaur knows you're here or not, you know you're being hunted. You can feel it in your gut.

You cover the candle with one hand, hoping that the flickering light doesn’t reach around the bend. The falling thump of the footsteps stops, and you still your breath, hoping that the beast would turn around and search the other way.

You hear it sniffing behind the wall. It's trying to catch your scent in the air, the smell of dread and terror, sweat so thick it must reach his nostrils and make them flare with lust. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and the tunnel is so quiet that that you’re certain the creature will hear that, too. (Your heart always betrays you.)

And your luck is cursed.

The beast shifts. 

You can’t see him yet, but you can hear it: the scraping sound underneath his feet as he aligns himself anew, choosing the path that leads straight down to you.

“Hecate save me,” you whisper into the air that seems to grow denser as he approaches, loud thumps of feet now accompanied by metal grating against clay. 

“Hear me, flame-bearing guide... Darkness, protect me…”

He’s dragging bronze against the wall, announcing that he’s carrying a weapon with him, the strength of a bull apparently not satisfying enough if he wants to break your bones with metal.

Don’t blow out the candle... 

If you blow it out, you’ll die.

It’s a clear message, a knowing voice in your head that says it. It’s not young, it’s not old: just knowing. Alert. Wise beyond ages. 

So you still your breath and wait.

Shadows fill the curve of the tunnel just before he emerges: thick like thunder, a darkness so deep that even the name of the twilight goddess escapes your tongue. 

And he’s big. Bigger than the bulls you used to dance with, bigger than kings, or heroes, bigger than even Theseus, the man you thought was a myth walking. His head is enormous, bigger than the rest of him, awkward and rough like it’s not quite part of him even though he’s supposed to be half ox. 

The gigantic, horned figure stops when it sees you. Vast shoulders tense; the fat, double-edged sword falls to his side when he settles to loom between you and your only way to escape this place. You’re oddly thankful that the horrible screeching stopped, but then you notice that his blade is drenched in blood: actually, his torso, thighs, even the buckskin loincloth – the only garment this monster has chosen to wear – is spattered with red dots. 

The bronze tip drips with crimson, and the earth drinks it all. Hades is never satisfied: this beast is never full. Everyone who was sent down here is dead: everyone else has met their doom except you. You wonder if your mother would cry if she heard her only daughter died because she fell in love with a fool.

“I killed your hero,” the walls of hell boom. 

His voice is thick like tar, dark and foul like it’s the God of Earth himself speaking.

The flame in your hand quivers from fear, and you slowly remove your palm, the tiny candle illuminating the beast with warm homely yellow, making the prominent muscles of his chest even bigger. 

He’s carved like the statues in Athens, only, this giant is far hairier than the painted marble heroes of the city. The hair on his chest is thick and wild; it shoots down his abdomen and disappears underneath the loincloth, spreads over his inner thighs, even covers his shins in dark mats. He looks like a wild man, a beast indeed: sweaty, filthy and thick. But you never knew a beast like him could talk…

“A coward, that one,” he snarls, the voice reverberating oddly like it’s a human man speaking from under a wooden mask or inside a clay jug.

And you believe every word he says.

Theseus was strong and able-bodied, but he had built his strength just to show it off. This man’s body speaks of pure, ripe survival.

A hulking shadow with shoulders that barely fit the tunnels of the Labyrinth, with palms nearly twice the size of yours, he’s the myth walking instead of the hero whose blood now adorns that dull bronze blade. The Minotaur who survived his father’s wrath, his mother’s absence, these bleak surroundings, and all the heroes sent down to get his head… His weapon isn’t even sharp anymore, and still, he managed to cut through the sacrificial humans like butter. And what a horrific death it must’ve been to be hacked to pieces by a dull blade.

Is it evil of you to hope that the death of your “hero” wasn’t a quick one…?

Theseus was a fool and a coward, rotten to the core, but you saw all of that too late. He never cared about the human sacrifices or the king’s wrath; he never cared about digging into Pasiphae’s sorrow. He only cared about getting his face depicted on a pot or having his deeds played out in amphitheatres, his name uttered in song, accompanied by harp and flute.

“I know.”  

Your voice gets sucked into the earth: it doesn’t echo from the walls like his. It’s thin, damp, and frail, just like everything else meant to walk under the sun instead of stand buried under the earth.

But the beast before you tilts its head a little. It’s curious. 

Why would you say that? 

Why don’t you cry from hearing the news...? Why don’t you howl out your hero’s name and beg the gods to heed your grief? Why don’t you run away from a monster?

The candlelight is puny and weak, but it’s bright enough to bring out the eyes of an animal. You draw breath in the dampness of the earth when you finally see it: the bull’s head is devoid of eyes, and yet, the beast still has them. Blue as the summer sky, stern as the death grip of winter just before spring.

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion. 

There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass. 

“You’re a man,” you say out loud, earning yourself another shift of the colossal head.

“...What?”

The muffled echo confirms it: he’s speaking from inside the bull, moving only slightly to get a better look at you. 

“You’re not a monster. You’re just a man.”

His eyes are wild but intelligent; they pierce you from inside the inanimate shield. The large chest heaves, his ribs flare like sails as he draws air through what must be the foul stench of a long-dead animal.

He takes a step, and you shrink, almost dropping your candle and the roll of red yarn.

“You think talking will save you, female?”

He speaks like a man, walks like a man, but his moves are an animal’s. Shoulders slightly hunched like he’s a bull about to attack, you recognize the way his muscles quiver from the times when you used to do bull leaping. You don’t dance with Rhea’s oxen anymore: your tasks at Hecate’s temple are more suitable and less wild for a maiden your age. Back when you were younger and more agile, you used to jump from the back of one bull to the next, clouds of dust swirling around you as you showed your prowess to the priests.

But you can’t charm this ox by dancing. This one can’t be tricked or fooled: he will pierce you with those horns or his brazen sword if you take even a step.

“I can get you out of here,” you wet your lips, noticing that the blue eyes shoot straight to your mouth when you do that. “I know the way out.”

“What makes you think I want out,” he says, so tight and tense that you fear he’s either about to leap at your throat or plunge his sword into your chest.

And you should be concerned about your own safety, not about his sensibilities – if he even has such things – but hearing this beast man’s reply is like drinking bile. 

Why would anyone want to stay here?

You don’t know if he eats human flesh; you don’t know if he had to in order to survive. Everyone knows why his father threw him down here, but no one knows he’s not half the things the people above say he is. And if half of it isn’t true, what other lies have been told about the Minotaur? 

Even most prisoners see the sun, yet this man has been deprived of that, too. He’s been robbed of mother’s love, of father’s mercy, of friends and foes, of mentors and guides. He’s been robbed of life, of stars, of fires and summer skies, of women’s giggles, of fistfights with fellow men. Of songs and plays, of festivals and games, of bull dances, and maidens that leap…

“Have you ever been up there…? On the surface?”

You turn your voice into soft water on pebbles, a soothing pour of persuasion and goodwill. His pecs contract, strong abs under thin hair and body fat bunch like you’re about to hit him there. You take a step, and now it’s his turn to shun away. It’s only half an inch, but he actually moves away from you. 

“I can take you there,” you offer gently. “Have you ever seen the sun…?”

It’s like talking to a starved predator, trying to entice them to follow you with a fresh steak in hand, hoping that the fanged mouth won’t take more than was promised if it decides to accept the offering.

And the beast accepts. 

“As a boy,” he grunts, a tad more softly. 

Those eyes are fixed on you, reminding you of horses when they’re slightly afraid. The glint of white and blue behind the carcass is fiercely alive, quite unlike the hollow, disinterested stare of the Athenian hero who was only interested in himself.

But this beast is interested. Oh, the Bull Man of Crete is wildly, fiercely curious about you. 

“You’ll take me to the sun,” he repeats, an affirmation rather than a question.

“Yes. To the surface. I promise.”

He moves. Like an animal who learned long ago to drive others into the corner so that he wouldn’t get forced there himself, he’s primal, sensual in the way that oracles in a trance are sensual.

Approaching you in silence that’s almost eerie, the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end by the time he’s only an arm’s length away. Why announce his coming earlier if he can move so quietly?

“You’ll lead me to my father.” 

His gaze bores into you, and not even the warm draft from the tunnels can prevent you from shivering. He’s distrustful, and it’s no wonder. It must be odd that some girl with a candle and a bundle of yarn is suddenly waiting for him around the bend, and doesn’t even flee. He’s a behemoth, but he’s not stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to survive, let alone thrive in this place.

And why should he trust you? Who is he supposed to trust in this maze when every person he has seen has either run away from him or tried to kill him? His father will slaughter him if he ever escapes the Labyrinth, so what else is a priestess in his kingdom but a squealing mouse, trying to feed him lies and then guide him to the surface and into a forest of spears? 

“No,” you shake your head slowly. “No, I promise I know the way. There will be no soldiers–”

You shut your mouth just before a huge palm closes around your throat. 

Gods, but he moves fast when he wants to… 

The candle and the yarn drop the instant his hand seizes your neck, strong fingers nearly meeting at the back as he squeezes your windpipe ever so slowly.

And he’s so close now. The carcass reeks of death, but the man underneath stinks of plain human sweat. His musk is a peculiar mix of blood, earth and soil, something both stale and invigorating, the thin sheen of sweat and dirt covering his muscles making him look like a common builder. It’s strange that the bull’s head hasn’t yet decayed in this place, that the man doesn’t reek of bodies and bones that must be scattered around like debris further down the tunnels. 

Another thing that’s strange is that he doesn’t seem to want to simply silence you.

He also wants to touch you.

A wide thumb strokes the underside of your jaw as he studies you. It slides down the column of your throat, the blue eyes gleaming with fascination when you swallow against him.

He drinks in the sight of you: the lips that part with fear, the frail collarbones that breathe against the side of his palm. The promising crevice between your breasts, the enticing softness of your teats. 

You can hear his breath grow heavy under ox skin and bone, the rugged, vicious helmet he has chosen to wear. What lies under, you can only imagine, wherein he has little left to the imagination when taking in the curve of your breasts, your nipples rising to peaks under the thin white linen only temple virgins use. 

Seeing your reaction to his touch makes him growl -- he actually growls like an animal, a deep, low rumble of approval rising up his throat when he sees how different your body is from his. How supple and cushy it is, soft and plump like a peach, covered only barely as if to tease a best like him. You wonder if he ever took pleasure in the maidens sent here by the king… If he ever thrust the sword between his legs into their weak bodies before giving them the mercy of his actual blade. Would he even know what to do with a woman, having lived here for so long?

“Please,” you whisper, bringing his eyes back to yours, the ice in them now liquid sapphire of pure want. 

Gods… You need to bring his attention back to your offer of help before he sees it more compelling to just stay here and play with his new, plump little mouse. Virgin or not, you wouldn’t survive a mating with this man. 

“I swear on Hecate’s torch that it’s not a trap. You have my word: I’m a priestess soon to be.”

He’s entranced. Hypnotized by your lips. You lick them to confirm your fears true: the man grunts with pleasure, out of instinct, absentmindedly like an animal who reacts to the sight of a fat, meaty bone. 

Oh, he might not know what to do with a woman… But he would try his best to find out. 

“Priestess…?” He rasps.

“It’s a holy woman,” you explain. “I serve the Goddess of the Crossroads.”

He snorts, either because he’s not impressed or because he’s downright amused by your vocation. The eyes, warmer, more demanding now, are far from the eyes of a bewildered beast.

“Little female of the crossroads... You will take me to the king. And then, I will kill him.”

He puts weight into his words, tries to make you understand. 

He wants you to guide him to his father. 

To the King who claims his son is half bull, to the husband who claims his wife was adulterous with an ox. To the King who demands tribute as virgins so that he can send them down to hell. The dark goddess screams justice, but you're at a horrible stalemate.

The gods will curse you for this… They will smite you with a bolt of lightning or drown you next time you cross the great sea if they see you’ve helped this half-beast escape. If you guide him to Minos, you’re a participant in kingslaying, and the gods never forget things like that.

“He’s your father and the king of Crete,” you whisper in fear. “The gods will strike you down–”

“Gods?” He spits. “I piss on the gods. I fuck their corpses and leave them to rot.”

You almost choke on the blasphemy levelled at you. The shadows creep closer, the stare behind the black fur is dark and amused, burning with the crooked wrath of a thousand years. 

“Perhaps I’ll fuck you too.”

It’s unnerving that you don’t find the threat wholly unappealing.

If anything, your eyes drift down to the hairs of his chest, to the two big muscles that resemble the work of the best sculptors in Athens. 

“Are you a virgin, female of the crossroads?”

His eyes search for your response: they want to see your fear and disgust. You swallow again, arduously against his hand, both caressing and testing you. 

The beast leans forward, as if weighing if he could somehow insult the gods by pillaging you. The rough hair of his chest meets the white cloth, it brushes against your nipples as he bends down to have a good sniff of you.

“You smell like a virgin,” he growls.

The hand leaves your throat, only to travel down your sternum. He grabs your breast nonchalantly, a little too roughly, the hot palm closing around the teat and squeezing it like it’s a toy. When you don’t react, he squeezes it again, this time hard enough to coax a whimper out of you.

“Sound like a virgin…”

Without warning, the hand dives straight between your legs next, palm forcing its way through your thighs and curving to cup your sex, moulding around it with barbaric thirst.

“Feel like a virgin, too.”

It’s thick, hot, and heavy, how he simply tries you through your dress. Fingers testing your folds, he’s clearly enjoying the subtle wetness he finds down there. You can hear another hitched grunt pushing up his throat, rugged and whiny this time, a broken groan that dissipates because of how dry his throat is. 

No man has ever dared to lay his hands on you... Many have wanted, but none have tried. Even drunkards and fools respect women who belong to the dark goddess.

But he doesn’t care about the wrath of Hecate. He doesn’t give a shit about the gods. He simply takes what he wants, what falls into his lap. The fifteenth offering, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in devouring your flesh. 

How easily he could simply yank that loincloth aside and drag your dress up. Force his cock into your tight, wet heat without uttering a word. You doubt that he would even take the trouble of laying you down on the ground for taking... Beasts rut when they want to: this man could fuck you against this wall if his loins demanded so, guttural groans being the last thing you hear before the candle goes out. 

You don’t know if you have to spread your legs for him before this is over, but you reckon you will do even that if it means you’ll see the sun again. You’ll endure every thick thrust, and gods be cursed, you wouldn’t even be solely disgusted if this half-animal chose to breed you... As shameful as it is, you would somewhat enjoy having him rut you like an animal in heat.

And you’ve gone mad, surely. 

You want to touch him too, just to test another theory. 

Deciding that it's a good idea to stick your hand into the maw of hell, your fingers lift. They meet his bicep, and the lewd panting stops.

He’s not even breathing… He’s just drowsy and drunk, looking at you with a mixture of soft sleepiness and awe in his stare. Like a dog who has never been petted, even his eyes drift half closed when he forgets to threaten you, now focusing solely on your hand. 

And you start to caress him, slowly, so slowly… Tracing the muscle all the way up where it meets the shoulder, you stroke even the thick cord that leads to his neck. The rest of him disappears under the bull, but the man behind it already shivers under your touch. He even bends his head a little in hopes that you would go under the mask and touch him there, and the gesture reminds you of an animal exposing its vulnerable areas, baring its very throat in submission. 

Braving a quick peek down, you notice that the buckskin cloth is stretched high and wide. His whole body is tense and immobile: you could cup him through the soft animal skin and he would probably shoot his seed from a single stroke of your palm. 

If this is not a virgin, you don’t know what is...

In a way, it would perhaps be wise to shove your hand down and disarm this man. That way, you would be safe for a few more minutes. Instead, you lay your palm over his chest, right over where his heart should be. 

“So do you, Bull of Crete...”

His gaze flickers.

The darkness hesitates, widens, nearly swallows the azure pools whole. But he doesn’t look irate or wild... Only shocked.

It’s an impasse. A thicket. His hand on you, your hand on him.

He surrenders first: the underworld budges before the utterly pure. You bless him with grace the instant he withdraws his hand from between your legs – slowly, reluctantly, like leaving a place that belongs to him. Or to which he belongs…

“I promise I’ll help you, Minos Tauros. But I need you to give me something in return.”

You remove your hand too. Softly, slowly, like a horse master who trains and tames wild things. All words seem to have escaped his tongue: he only grunts, unsure of what a beast like him could give you in return for your help.

“You must promise to be kind to me.”

“Kind...?”

“I need you to behave,” you explain. “No bad things on the way up... No fucking.”

Everything else, he seems to accept, but during the last sentence the Minotaur blinks at you, utterly confused.

“But... You smell like you want to fuck.” 

Your jaw drops open a tiny bit. Then you remember that a priestess of Hecate doesn’t gawk.

“I don’t–How would you know that…?”

The beast only shrugs. Then he leans forward and takes another sniff as if to prove it’s true that you want his cock inside you.

“You smell good,” he grunts. “Different... Female, not afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to…”

He even raises his hand to inspect the slight wetness there. Fascinated by the thin film on his fingers, he rubs his thumb in it, probably thinking about bringing it under his mask to get a good sniff of your juices too.

You grab his wrist without thinking, mortified to your core by the prospect of him getting high on your slick. 

“Look. We need to leave before the candle burns out.”

The obsessive stare threatens to swallow you once more, so you let go of his wrist and steel your resolve. Scooting down to grab your things, you try to ignore the violent erection still pointing straight at you.

Hecate keep you from offering yourself to this man out of your own free will...

And you don’t have a torch, only a candle and a skein of blood-red yarn, but you know the way out, so there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“I need you to promise me,” you turn at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing that he’s still standing there, in the place where he almost took you like his first whore. As if waking up from a thrall, he straightens to his full height, picks up his sword and looks like a half-human, half-bull once more.

“I promise,” comes a booming voice from under the animal skull. “No fucking… I’ll behave.” 

You nod. There's a sense of trust in the air. A promise of hope... It's mutual, invigorating -- life-giving, like the sun and blood in your hands.

You don't know if the son of Minos has ever smiled in here, but from the quick glint in his eyes, you suspect that he's smiling right now, the man under that animal mask. Somehow, it reminds you of the stars in the sky.

“Lead the way, maiden.”

[fivekrystalpetals]

I-I-REALIZED SOMETHING AHFGGJKJKL;!!!

(how did I not see this before fr?!?!?!)

okay, so in Retrace 93, I had the general feeling that Lottie had a sudden change of heart to join the protagonists. I did not dwell upon it too much or take it as out of character or anything; just assumed that when Reim gave her a chance to join them (and all of them are on the same path anyway)—she jumped to take up on the chance.

But she did have a turning point I missed.

Yes, true, she had been skeptical of Glen-sama's actions since Retrace 81, after he killed all those Pandora men (going to the extent of skewering one through his mouth in his dying moments. I don't know what else passed through her mind then; maybe, flashbacks to the Tragedy of Sablier too where she killed lots against her will) but yeah, from then on, she had been mulling it over and over whether or not he was doing the right thing. She was always lost in thoughts, something even Doug points out to her.

Yet, she tries to convince herself that the Baskervilles are on the "side of justice" and trying to "save the world" from collapsing:

After this, Reim steps in to protect Sharon and proposes an alliance. Yes, again true that Lottie gets even more confused and hesitant over what she should do.... still she doesn't give an affirmative answer. If Lottie were convinced plenty by his words alone, she should have accepted his proposal then and there. But she doesn't. She continues to simmer in her indecision.

And now, we come to the end of Retrace 92, aka the most heartbreaking sequence of Break's death. At the time, Sharon and Reim must have raced on ahead (probably in the confusion, they managed to escape from the Baskervilles) because they are the only one that are there for Break at his last breath. The Baskervilles join in later.

Okay, now to the interesting part,

In Retrace 93, I overlooked this panel, because it was a tiny strip...

[Lily is asking Lottie, if the Hatter is dead to which she answers: ]

This. This is the moment she makes up her mind. Just the wordless realization in her eyes... how did I not notice ;_;

She realizes that with Break's death, the kids have lost an important mentor-kind-of-character as they go on ahead into the Past. That without Break, the kids might end up getting hurt or killed by Glen. (right? Oz wasn't using his powers to kill, but stop Glen. Glen would have killed Oz if Alice had not stopped him (and he is reminded of a younger Lacie). plus, Lottie doesn't know that Break cut off Leo's arm ;_;)

Or, well, if you think I am reading too much into it, she did def realize that someone needs to step into his shoes and "see the kids to the end" of their mission.

Also, most importantly, she decides to honor his death and the fact that he was the one to propose an alliance first (albeit in an overly suggestive manner lol break what even was that jghsgjsk) and stops Lily from shooting Reim.

Lottie says all those things about Fang set free from his burden and her being relieved for him, and it's all true. Of course, it is. But her immediate decision to stop Glen was as a result of Break's death and the realization if she didn't stop Glen, the kids might end up getting hurt at her master's hand.

As the underlying theme of the story goes, people do things not to achieve big goals like "saving the world", but for smaller, more selfish ones like "saving their present"—

Meaning, Lottie decides to stop Glen not because she thinks he cannot save the world—

(She says she will join in on Reim's wager—something that Reim himself isn't sure what it's about; he simply says Rufus Barma must know, the reason he let Oz escape:

A very wonky logic for her to accept, no? Especially, seeing how Rufus Barma's betrayal is what caused Break to regain Mad Hatter, fight back at his execution and kill (?) many of her clan.)

—no, not because she suddenly trusts Rufus over her master. Not because she suddenly pins her hope on the B-Rabbit saving the world. Not for any over-the-top reasons like those.

No, the truth is she had decided to stop Glen regardless. Because she had to step in to protect the kids her dead "friend" left behind. (Ijustghjsgjhjejscreaming-whoaaaaah)

All of whatever she was saying in that chapter was just specious logic to cover up her actual reason. No wonder, her dialogues felt so disconnected (at least, to me);

like when Doug asks if she was gonna betray Glen, she says:

which is all good and true.... but siding with the B-Rabbit must count as betrayal, right? No matter what how I love Oz, it doesn't change the fact the B-Rabbit did destroy the Chains of the world (twice), killed many of her friends and family and even dismember her master's body, right?

However, right now, in this present scenario, she is not looking upon Oz as B-Rabbit, but a kid she knows and gotta protect.

annnnnd, so, here, before Break, she drops her previous cheerful expression and sincerely speaks the truth (in my favorite panel of hers; yes, I am pasting it all over again; I am not even sorry lol):

I mean I was not entirely satisfied why she'd say this and more to Break, to a guy who killed her friend after all. Now, I think I am more satisfied. She made up her mind to stop Glen after his death, so she is stopping to thank him for helping her make her decision, something she had been "going round and round in circles in her head".

so to say, Break might not have helped influence her decision with his words (like he continually does for the kids) but with an unspoken responsibility he inadvertently passed to her with his death.

[this is mostly a repost of this chain of reblogs bc I had a few more things to add after rt.93+, wanted to have all of it in one place easy to read instead of adding one more rb to that chain, nobody talks about Lottie in general :( etc. etc.]

1] Lottie's real character

—is not the whole 'bloodlusty-sadistic-femme-fatale' persona she puts up but something close to this—

—the moment she sees a strange ragged child, a newcomer to her house on top of that, her first instinct is to go: "oh no, you are so dirty... come over here I will clean you all up."

then she goes on to console Lily for everything that happened in her life and explains why none of it was her fault—

Everyone here's gone through similar trials... but at the same time, it warps 'something' in people around you.

I am so curious about Lottie's past (on one hand, I am sad I won't ever have an answer; on the other I am happy bc I can make up whatever backstory I want for her!) because she says this as a matter-of-fact, like she (and everyone there) has experienced her share of trauma and abuse so can easily relate to Lily (also, please look at Lily's cute little adoring this-lady-is-so-cool face and her round, neatly combed mop of hair lol)

Lottie is a caring, motherly, nurturing person from her heart. This isn't even big-sisterly; she just straight up adopts a child that appeared at her doorsteps. At first, I thought her sweet character got warped after her traumatic experiences from the Tragedy of Sablier, but actually no. She still is the same, she simply suppresses it for the sake of her persona.

Because, here in Retrace 34, her first instinct on seeing Vincent beat up Echo was to confront him about it:

and she gets angry too when Vincent very coolly replies that he was taking out his pent up frustration on Echo.

However, then, she slowly relents, probably making up her mind not to interfere any more in his personal business because it was doubtless more important to keep Vincent on their side than making an enemy out of him.

annnd yet, she still voluntarily offers to accompany Zwei on her assigned mission to Sablier. because she is worried about her running off somewhere by herself. Practically a mom, I am telling you

.

and yeah, something else to add on here: the reason I say her Sadistic Sexy Girl persona is fake,, because she doesn't seem to enjoy the attention men 'give' her at all. two times iirc: when Vincent and Break grope at her without her proper consent, she appears highly uncomfortable. (or, it could only be dubcon at the best ig (also see: Lacie who was requested for her 'permission' in Glen's 'experiment' by the Glen himself. It is mentioned time and again that Baskervilles' can't go against the Glen's wishes,, implying her 'permission' was merely a formality))

See this, her first instinct is to irritably slap away Vincent's hand when he so much as touches her hair (Retrace 34):

But Vincent ignores her and continues to grope at her body.... with her finally giving in. Or rather, she was shown to be very shocked and annoyed all of those three panels before she abruptly switches to her 'sadist' persona.

With Break, I don't know how she would have reacted if he pressed on but since he pulled away, she went from being annoyed and uncomfortable to ending up more confused about what was going on (Retrace 41)

on the whole, I feel like on returning from the Abyss after a hundred years and finding that the Baskervilles had been replaced in the society and condemned to being barbarians and mass murderers, the survivors had to obviously collect more information about what really had happened. They had to find their master Glen as well. Hence, she assumed this persona to achieve her objectives—using her face and body to lure in possible informants. Also, when she needs to interrogate 'weaker' men, she simply uses it to scare them and get what she wants (sorry Oz, don't mean to dunk on you but you are the example here lmao). Like how Break clowns around so that people don't take him seriously. but.... that's not what she is, nowhere near what she is, and that's why she is so uncomfortable when men voluntarily make advances at her.

2] Lottie's smart observations

—because, many a time, it's because of her observations I started to think in an entirely new track.

in fact, the first time I started to pay closer attention to Jack's words is because of this panel (Retrace 27)—

Till then, I simply took it for granted that Jack Vessalius was a celebrated war hero, that Glen Baskerville was the one that caused the massacre which Jack put a stop to by killing his friend etc. etc.

But when Lottie pointed this out, I started to wonder if there was indeed something more to the whole Tragedy than that meets the eye. Well, honestly, calling a war hero a hero is in itself not all right but now when I realize what Jack was actually up to, it doesn't surprise me that he had no proper answer to Lottie's accusation here. He simply scares her off saying the Baskervilles won't be any match to B-Rabbit, to which, at the time I was reading this chapter, I went— okaaay? and what's that to do anything with anything?

He doesn't answer anything with regards to Glen because, apparently, he was trying to protect his dear friend's honor (bullshit); he says this to Glen's loyal followers as if they are gonna desert Glen or something. They stayed and still searched for him even after he gave the orders to kill everyone in Sablier so Jack, what's your point?

Next is here (Retrace 46)—

the first time I read this statement, do you know my mind directly went: oh, does this mean Vincent is the Head Hunter? Because if the Baskervilles don't know who the Head Hunter is but she is helping them out (in other words, in league with them), won't this narrow it down to Vincent? plus, he did kill Phillipe's dad (within the excuse of not wanting him to be dragged into the Abyss) with the chain which had connections to the Head Hunter case they were investigating.

But then, Vincent went on to say the Head Hunter attacked Gil too (which he couldn't have possibly done), and that he would be the one to slay her, and.... I entirely dropped that line of thought. Afterward, we went through the whole seesaw of whether or not Elliot is the Head Hunter to finally getting revealed Vincent was the true Head Hunter after all and I was like: ah, my first hunch was right after all... (ノへ￣、)

In the same chapter, here too:

Vincent (who is one of the smartest characters in the story) commends her on picking up things super fast. So does Break when she directly questions him about his words from the other day (Retrace 52):

Next, this one might be a bit of a weak argument but I think, of all people, it was only Charlotte who never fell for Jack's charms. In her past memories, it is shown that she didn't trust him at all. He enraged her, in fact. Yes, this whole scene is played off for gags but.... tl;dr, is that she questions him every time he enters their mansion without any particular permission or intention (Retrace 27)

and see here too:

She is shocked when she comes to know that Glen had let in Jack, an outsider, on to their secrets. Well, we have Jack here denying that he was at all interested in Glen's affairs but we later on realize that was not the case. That Jack was very much interested in Glen's affairs. So, Lottie's instincts ring true every time,,

(I was wondering why Lottie didn't know Jack at all since that guy has been loitering around the Baskerville Mansion since forever but that too was explained. she became a Baskerville after Lacie was cast into the Abyss, Oswald became Glen and Jack fell into his depression.)

but here, here (Retrace 87) can we talk about how smart Lottie is in this scene? (I love you, Break! but this post is about Lottie so I am gonna leave you out; I have made a separate post for you and your badass ways so there, there,)

Had it not been for Shirley, Break might have lost here, died even,, because what she says is right. He is fighting but he has not at all healed from his previous injuries (which, thanks to Vincent, got aggravated, seriously what's the sewer rat's problem?!),, so he is fighting for and with his life. Using his chain only adds to burden that his body can't take. lol, and so what a simple logic she uses-- just stay away from him by a certain distance, out of Mad Hatter's range and don't throw your chains against it either. He would self-destruct by himself ;-; Break looks so annoyed here, he must have realized that her logic would work.

3] Lottie is NOT a blind, stupid Glen fangirl/follower

As I mentioned in the 2 section, she is the only one that questions the intentions of Glen-sama's 'one and only friend' Jack who loiters about the Baskerville grounds for a lot of no reason;

similarly, she is the one who first hesitates at Oswald/Glen's actions after his taking over Leo's body and on a regret-fuelled warpath of probably more disastrous outcomes from changing the past than the Tragedy of Sablier.

Look at her, she is horrified at the way Glen killed that man, even skewering a sword through his mouth in his last moments (Retrace 81):

Yes, it is true that Pandora can not be easily cleansed of their brainwashing by Jack and misunderstanding of the Tragedy of Sablier but.... this was too ruthless and too cruel a murder of an innocent person. I think this is the first time she starts to question if Glen was really doing the right thing. (Even, I wonder if she gets flashbacks to the Tragedy of Sablier like Vincent bc she looks visibly shaken here)

Also, back in Retrace 79, she is right by Glen's side and even comically annoyed at Gil and Oz's escape and at Rufus for hiding while Raven attacked the place, so it didn't seem like she was questioning Glen at the time. Maybe, her first instance of hesitation was at Glen's immediate decision to get Gil killed, Gil who is one of them and was once Glen's valet. I don't know but she did seem to me to be a lot shaken there as well.

And not only now, back then, too. A 100 years ago. Yes, in front of Glen, it was Fang who openly questioned Glen's decision to kill all humans in and around Sablier but Lottie too was equally shocked to hear it (Retrace 27)

(Well, back then, it is true Oswald had no choice but to go ahead with killing all humans to save them from breaking away from the 100-years cycle or getting turned into chains (although I am writing a post on how a lot of the tragedy could have been avoided had he not been so passive; when I finish, I will link it here) but not in the present.)

Back to Lottie--

In the previous chapter (Retrace 26), she tells Oz that Glen's orders are absolute and the Baskervilles are 'built' to obey them. Her mannerisms show us (and Oz) that she has no remorse in killing all those people and is, in fact, super gleeful about the massacre and the role she played in it ("Aah, it feels like only yesterday", she says, as if she is nostalgic and thirsty for more bloodshed.)

However, this.... is all a huge lie.

Maybe, she thinks it will be easier to get an answer out of a hostage if she behaves cruel and threatening. Maybe, she is trying to hide her own regrets and guilt by putting up the mask of a psychopathic killer. Maybe, she feels there is no point in trying to justify their actions from a 100-years ago (something the Baskervilles themselves don't understand properly) to the citizens in the present, because, no matter what, they won't understand their stance and look upon them as barbarians and murderers, so it'd be as well to accept it.

Whatever be the case, the truth is: (Retrace 98)

What is this...? What exactly have we gotten ourselves into....?!

Lottie scolds Fang for even harboring a thought like one of their family has turned traitor, ultimately breaks down and cries in his arms. Plus, the Baskervilles themselves were scared of Jack and his chain-killing-chain (they didn't know it was Jack at the time) but they knew that someone, a human contractor or maybe one among themselves, had turned on them. Fang was so relieved to see Lottie alive. He feared she too might have fallen at the hands of the traitor, who had killed off many of the almost immortal Baskervilles assigned to be the messengers to and from Glen. I suppose had those messengers managed to reach Lottie and co., they would have known the real reason behind Glen's orders to kill the humans (if you see Retrace 74-pg. 29 (not adding that panel too) Glen does explain his decision to a red-hooded Baskerville, who I presume was killed by Jack on their way to the others)

Having said all this, I can't not add this panel bc this too is canon *face palm*

4] Lottie's views on living and death

This is a bit difficult to explain but there's a lot of stuff about this in spite of her few appearances (gotta read between the lines), so let's start with this panel:

while reading this for the first time, I thought she is talking about the Tragedy of Sablier. I am not so sure now. Because, although they killed lots of people, it was not for their own gain at all. It was to save those people from a fate worse than death. But, in this chapter (Retrace 25), Lottie doesn't yet know why Glen had asked them to commit the massacre so.... she must have bought the common (Jack-fed) tale that Glen wanted the Intention of the Abyss for his own gain. In a way, she is still trying to convince herself that their crimes on that fateful day were justified.

It's impossible to keep on living without hurting anybody, okay?

What I mean is this should be her own idea of life—that living is cut-throat and unfair. If we simply do nothing, then others will trample all over us and use us to achieve their own goals. Even if we try to live a life without hurting others, the same need not always be reciprocated. (which is exactly what went down between Jack and Glen jkjkgsjk but Lottie doesn't know lol)

I feel like the whole conversation hints more at her past than her days with the Baskervilles, because, even prior to that, the topic she was discussing with Oz... had nothing to do with the Baskervilles or the Tragedy. She was merely curious why Oz surrendered so fast when Ada was with him and why he wasn't fighting back right now. Thinking about it, Oz underwent a tremendous character development from a This-is-Fine, If-I-do-Nothing-I-will-be-Fine attitude to actively fighting back for his friends and family. Retrace 82, when he finally wrestles the control out of Jack's hands in spite of his constant taunting that nothing could belong to someone like Oz. In a way, he did take Lottie's advice and act upon it.

Lottie has the right hunch about most things. Remember this scene (Retrace 75):

I wonder what her life before joining the Baskervilles was like because she sure has tons of worldly experience and can easily see through people. Just like that, she offers words and advice that people (here, Oz) needed to hear.

.

I believe this is also the reason why her reaction to Break was quite... different compared to little Lily's outburst whenever she spotted him that they gotta kill him and get revenge for Fang.

For one, yes, she knows Fang passed with a smile on his face and was freed from his burden. She was relieved for him. But I also think she doesn't want revenge on Break because of this very principle of life. Fang died protecting Lily. It was a fair fight, a fight for life where if one even slightly falters, they are gonna get killed. It was not like Break had an advantage there; it was not like Fang was gonna go easy on Break had he given in or something,, (compared to Glen's killing of those Pandora men, where he had an overwhelming powerful chain, ig those men were mostly unarmed too idk)

And of all people, it was Lottie who finally ended that cycle of vengeance that started with Reim and Lily. Remember how it went?

Lily kills two of Reim's companions -> Reim seeks revenge and shoots Lily in the head -> Lily didn't die instead she attacks Reim -> Break arrives at the spot (coz of Vincent), jumps to conclusion that Reim is dead and seeks revenge -> in the fight that ensues Fang dies and Break gets grievously injured -> Lily wants revenge for Fang (in the meantime, Vincent reopens Break's half-healed wound from then) -> in the fight between Break and the Baskervilles, he gets even more exhausted bc of his chain (the reason he went all out was for Sharon getting slightly hit in the head btw) -> finally, Break dies but Lily isn't satisfied, she wants to cut up his body -> Reim offers her to shoot him instead bc he was the one that started it in the first place

Had Lily killed Reim here, this cycle could have gone on forever (maybe, Sharon might seek revenge next lol)

side note: from this, I realize that Break acts a lot more out of emotion than Lottie; Fang was equally important to Lottie like Reim or Sharon were to Break. Yet, she decided to put an end to the cycle of vengeance and accept Reim's offered hand of friendship. Supposing if Reim and Fang were the ones that died back then and Break lived in the end, would he have agreed to ally with the Baskervilles? I doubt...? (Another thought with no real proof is that she'd already been thinking of working with the protagonists ever since Break asked of her (remember, she was the one curious about his words) but that's a topic for another post ghjshgjs I promise it won't be shippy lol)

Back to the topic, I am genuinely surprised that she didn't hold the slightest grudge against Break. I understand allying with the protagonists for they are pursuing the same goal but she really didn't have to stop and say such a sweet prayer for his soul, a man who killed her friend after all:

May your soul return to this Earth.... once it has completed its hundred years cycle.

She is promising him to see Oz and the others through to the end in his place! Something he was regretting at the very brink of death, that he didn't have it in him anymore to continue on the path with them,, so whether he can or not hear her, this sure was a reassurance he needed to hear. (As I said before, she just..... knows what to say, she can easily see through people but I don't think it is appreciated enough ;_;)

And here comes in her views of death and the Hundred Years cycle (reincarnation) of the soul, something she takes very seriously (she should, considering they are the servants of the Abyss) and I believe she is of the view that demise needs to be respected, no matter friend or enemy. Now, do you see why she was so horrified at Glen stabbing a sword through the man's throat while he lay there dying? A close example I can give is that of Chuuya from BSD rebuking Dazai for shooting bullets at a corpse. They might have killed lots but they still know to respect the dead/dying.

This went so long--and I will go on and on about Lottie lol (I even reached the 30 image limit ig idk) so I will end here with Charlotte reconciling with her master and assuring him that she will support Leo in his place. This is the first time she has visible tears in her eyes:

[chaithetics]

Late Night Mends

Pairing: Kid (Monkey Man) x reader

Word count: 2.1K

Warning: 18+ MDNI, mentions of anxiety, injuries, not a lot of spice, some fluff, not proof/beta read lol, does not contain spoilers for Monkey Man.

Note: Absolutely am in love with Dev Patel, he adores the world and fandom love! Also special mention to my friend @mittos who helped with this prompt/story ideas. Go and see Monkey Man if you haven't already! And if you have go and see it again! Also jaan is a Hindi term of endearment. Also can we take a moment for Dev Patel's side profile?! Comments, and reblogs are always appreciated as well! I hope you enjoy!

************************************************************************

It was late, extremely late. It had been a slow night but it was quickly becoming the latest it had ever been without his tired, bloody presence. It made you uncomfortable how late it was becoming, he never took this long to show up after a big match. You bit your nails as you couldn’t help but think about the possibility of where he was and scarily, what condition he was in. 

It was a risky field that Kid was in, especially when he was the losing dog for the overeager, sweaty crowd not to bet on. He took the punches and rarely complained about it, you’d only ever been to one of his fights before and never again. It was too painful to watch, you’d bitten each of your fingernails right down to the beds, and you swore that it gave you a few grey hairs. If you had any, each of them could be traced back to being his fault, you were sure. You loved him, truly adored him, but he certainly knew how to stress you out. 

You’re sitting down waiting for him to arrive. You don’t even realise that you’ve put your hand up to your face to bite your nails but now you know that you must’ve as you’ve been subconsciously biting them as you look out the window waiting, lost in your thoughts. You could think and use that as a distraction but no, the more you think or gaze off, the more you think about him, worry about him and overanalyse every little thing to be analysed, including what would need a magnifying glass to do so. You sigh and rub your face tiredly and also as another poor attempt at a distraction to take your mind away from him. 

It was a ridiculous thought, nothing could distract you from him, Kid lived rent-free in your mind 24/7, no matter what you did or wanted. And now was his prime time for filling your head. 

You rub your face some more and then look up, you can hear the door quietly open and the sound of gentle footsteps start to make their way to you. You look up as you try to glimpse the start of his lean shadow to confirm that he’s really, really, finally here. The light switch turns on as you see his arm stretch out and then he’s standing there in your doorway. 

You look up at him as he stands, he just looks at you for a moment. His gorgeous doe-eyes are wide, he looks exhausted and defeated but there’s a small smile on his face as his eyes meet yours. Ever since you’d known Kid, he had always been a man of few words, which seemed to balance out just how expressive his handsome face was. You liked that though, that his eyes truly were the window to his soul. You did like his voice though as well, you’d have no problem with him using it more. Sometimes he would talk though, about his sweet mother, the stories of Hanuman that his mother had told him and that had vividly stuck with and inspired him still. 

You quickly take him in, there’s sweat in his hair, a cut in his cheek, and his knuckles are bloody as always. You bite your lip as you look at him, chewing over your words so you don’t come across as either a scolding lover or treating him like a patient. 

“Your hands…” You finally say as he steps closer to you and you can see that he made some attempt to cover them with a bit of cloth but the blood is all over his right hand. 

“It’s fine.” He says in a soft whisper, his voice is melodic as always but a little hoarse and deep. He looks down at his hand he tries not to flinch when you take his hand and it’s further proof that no, it really isn’t fine. You sigh and move his hand to check his fingers, it causes discomfort but based on the movement you know it’s not broken at least. It was genuinely impressive that he was still alive, still functioning and not just with everything he’d been through as a young boy, but with the amount of beatings he’d taken at the club. That he’d somehow avoided major damage to his body, that his handsome looks were still intact, and also his teeth. That was a big surprise you had to admit. 

“Sit down.” You look at him with a look of concern, one that he doesn’t like. “Come on, I’ll clean it up.” You say softly.  He runs his right hand, his good hand through his damp but perfect locks and he sighs, sitting down, waiting for you to fix his wounds and to feel your tender touch. 

You’d had the first aid kit ready to go, sitting on the floor waiting for his entrance. You always used it, he always needed it. Your medical background certainly helped, some nights you’d crack a joke that that was the only reason why he was with you. The first time you made that joke his eyes widened at first, and he immediately stuttered to try and reassure her that that wasn’t the case. He didn’t realise that it was a joke. You’d kissed him to reassure him and he kissed you back so sweetly. Now when you made the joke he’d just look at you and give you a small, precious chuckle. You just want to make him smile, make him laugh, bring him joy, and make him feel safe. He deserved that at the very least, especially with his gigantic hug. 

His hand clearly had taken the worst of it, you hold it gently in yours, and his hand twitches for a moment. He’s spent most of his life being devoid of affection. He craved a gentle touch, to feel seen and safe in the company of another. He’d started to find that with you, in the way you looked at him, how you carefully held his hand in arms when cleaning an injury and wrapping it up. You somehow had never noticed it, he figured it was because of how attentive you were to his injuries, to him, and his lips quirked up into a secret smile you’d miss over the irony of you not noticing this because of how attentive you were being to him. 

“You were later than usual.” You say as you clean his bruised and bloodied knuckles. 

“I know.” He whispers as he looks up at you, he’s tired but there’s a small smile on his lips as he knows the scolding is incoming, just what degree is it going to be from you tonight, is the question. 

“I was worried, my fingernails are almost as bloody as your knuckles because of how much I was biting them.” You say as you try to clean his hand gently, noting how his hand occasionally twitches in response.

“Would’ve been quite a match.” He whispers before he looks at your hands, noticing your nervously bitten nails. His cheeks heat up as he can’t help but feel a little bit of guilt about causing you to worry so, he’s spent so much of his life without someone who cares about him like this. You sigh and roll your eyes at his response. 

“You’re going to be the cause of every single grey hair I have in this lifetime.” You say as you treat the knuckle wounds, making sure you’re gentle. “All I do is worry, you spend every night getting beaten, thrown off tables. It’s going to be too much one day. Something will go wrong. Then what?” Kid can’t help but look up at you, it’s a conversation that’s happened more than a few times. “What if it’s your spine or something? I won’t be able to fix that-” “It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m okay, jaan.” He says as he looks up at you, his big brown eyes are widened and he’s looking at you with his sad puppy dog eyes, he feels bad for making you worry so much. 

You sigh, biting your lip as you try to stop yourself from saying anything else. He’s too sweet and so you nod and finish cleaning and bandaging everything. After a moment, you cup his cheek as you look at his warm eyes and you go to get him some water to drink. He watches you and continues to as he drinks the water. You two have become quite good at playing a game of watching each other, almost like it’s a sport to observe the other. 

He looks at you, tilting his head which tousles the gorgeous locks he has a little. You sigh and run a hand through his soft brown curls, damp with sweat but somehow miraculously not blood. His hair has always been absolutely perfect. You feel bad for essentially venting your anxieties at him right as he’s come from a long night of work at the club. 

“I only scold because I care.” You say but you’re not sure if it’s him or yourself that you’re trying to convince more as you say the words, but it’s true technically. “It’s a form of doting really.” You say as you look at him as he adjusts in his seated position, looking up at you with his wide, doe-eyed orbs. Even if it was a form of doting, you could never stay mad at him for long when having to look into those gorgeous eyes. They’d melt away any troubles and you’re sure if awards were given out for best brown eyes, he’d win. You hated that he did this, that this was how he had to get by. That he had to take these awful, unhealthy beatings but you love him anyway.

He was freshly bandaged now, he moved his hand up and Kid started to slowly caress your cheek, he traced some invisible line so gently with the pads of his fingertips as he looked at you. His doe eyes were filled with adoration and peacefulness as he concentrated on your beauty. You let him, it was soothing and sweet and you had no reason to even consider stopping this. You were his and he was yours. 

Your eyes glance down at his fingers, and then you put a hand up to cup his cheek and look into the most beautiful eyes you could ever imagine seeing. After he feels your touch his eyes quickly close and he inhales. He isn’t sure if he’ll ever get used to the feeling of your fingers on his face, of how your hair feels against his skin, or your breath, but he knows for sure, that he’ll at least never tire of it. 

His fingers glide down do your mouth and he traces your lips as he looks at them. He tilts his head and before he can even move, you’ve moved your head to press your lips together. There’s something about how gentle his hands are with you, how they feel even after everything that has happened to him and that he does. How it just takes a glance at you for him to melt into a puddle. 

You put your hand back into his hair and run it through his curls as he kisses you back and the kiss deepens almost immediately. He cups your cheek gently as your lips move together in sync and you can’t help but start to tug his locks a little and his hand moves to your waist to hold you close against him. You continue to play and tug his hair as his lips move down your chin and jaw and he kisses your neck. You gasp out and tug on his hair a bit more as you feel his breath tickle your throat between his passionate kisses. You struggle to not let out a giggle as he does this and you feel your cheeks heating up as you tilt your head back so your neck is as exposed as possible for him while he kisses your throat and makes his way to your collarbone. 

He always gets like this, and so quickly. He just needs a little touch, the reassurance of you being there and he feels an all-consuming need to make up for the years of loneliness, the lack of affection, the lack of physical contact outside of a fight he was guaranteed to lose. He has you in his arms and it’s something right for once, if it was a game this would be a victory, some kind of peace.

[propheticbride]

Abducted

𐙚 Living among Joel’s group isn't so bad, you were fed and taken care of. The only downside? You could never leave him.

𐙚 Raider!Joel x Reader (tw: kidnapping, dubcon, reader is technically a hostage, joel is a bad man!)

AN: Listen to this, for maximum effect <3 reader is early 20s and Joel is mid-50s :3

You really missed your father. You couldn't remember what he looked like, not truly. Could not make out his features precisely, the way his face curved. Your heart dropped at the realization. The very person who had raised you, almost your entire life was gone. Viciously beat to death by the man who quietly slept beside you, his back to you.

Joel was an awful man, wasn't he? You had heard stories of him, at least a year before he had gotten to you. Your cousin returned from patrol with news of him carving up men in camps, stealing everything and leaving nothing but a butchered mess in his wake.

And for a while you couldn't believe men like that really existed, men who would take advantage of the innocent of the world. As if there wasn't already enough of that in the form of a vicious infection.

When he came to your camp, it was dark. You hadn't heard the attack at first, but rustling of the bushes around your tent made you quickly sit up. After screams and sounds of wet filled the air, tears streamed your face as he stood in front of you. Blood caked his face, fresh and new. His clothes were old and worn in. He was a truly frightening image to take in and you prepared for what you knew would come, his knife in your neck.

But it never did. A woman had entered your tent behind him, 'She's pretty.’

‘We’re takin her with us.’ he had muttered to her, and quickly turned and left.

The breaking in part was brutal, more brutal than what the soldiers had to endure you were sure. He wouldn't touch you, not yet. He left you alone for hours on end in an empty barren room, with no clothes on and realistically nothing to piss in. Then we would return, bloody and bruised and care for you, tricking your mind into believing he was the best thing for you. But after much pampering, he'd leave you on your own again. Alone and abandoned.

He would do this for a solid two months, until your will and mind shattered.

The last time, the last you could remember of that room, you had begged him to take you with him. Grabbing at his pant leg and refusing to let go, please please please.

‘Please take me with you!’ you had screamed, voice hearse.

‘Why, why darlin, what's the matter?’ he had asked you with a smirk. Joel was enjoying you, begging like this.

After all, the man had been a father. He would never force himself on someone unwilling, so in his mind; he needed you willing.

‘I love you. Please take me with you please!’ you cried.

‘You what now?’ he cupped his ear, pretended he didn't quite hear you.

Hot tears streamed your face, it was an awful position to be in. You wanted clothes, you wanted to be held. You wanted love again. ‘I love you.’

And with that, Joel had scooped you up and carried you to his room, and that’s when the sex began. Almost every night, no matter how sore you were or was from the night before. Pleasing him was the only real job you had.

Now you sat up in bed, the covers covering your bruised legs, all left over from his iron grip on them. He was not a gentle lover, nor did he make an effort to become one for you. He'd come back from his raids and take you, it didn't matter if you were doing anything. Because your only real job was pleasing him.

Sometimes, you thought about the repercussions of stabbing his throat and running. But his entire group, who worshiped Joel, would sic you like a dog and you found it wasn't worth it. And other times, you really fucking loved him.

“Darlin?” his gruff voice fills the silent room.

You quickly turn to him, watching as he rubs his eyes.

“You awake? Itso’ late”

“I’m sorry.” you murmur.

“C’mere baby.” Joel leans against the headboard and holds his arms out.

You waste no time practically launching yourself into his arms, he had bathed recently and the smell of outdated old spice (and maybe some musky cologne he had taken off a dead man’s body) filled your nose. God you missed him. He had been gone, not raiding but patrolling with Tess.

“How's my girl?” he asks.

“I’m okay. I missed you. I hate…hate it when you go.” you say, leaning into his shoulder. “When you leave, and I…can't go with you. Something dies inside me.”

You can't see it, but Joel grins. A wide grin he hasn't smiled since he held Sarah.

“What dies darlin?” he begins rubbing your back. A tactic he used after abandoning you for days, when he sat you in the bath and promised he wouldn't do it again only to do it…again.

“I dunno. Something hurts, like in my stomach when you leave.” you pull away to look at him. Joel was pretty, too pretty for you to possibly deserve. And he thought you were pretty enough to take.

“I’m not really leavin you doll, not really. Jus’ gotta go protect our little family, you know that right?” he kisses your forehead.

“I know. You wouldn't leave me.” you tell yourself mostly.

“Now, I’m glad you’re awake.” he starts. “I had a dream darlin, a good one.” Joel reaches down to his pajama pants where a tent is forming. “Think my lil doll can help her daddy?”

You nod, nervous.

He pulls his pants down, along with his boxers. You take a deep breath and begin small kisses on his dick. He sucks in a breath and collects your hair in his hands.

You continue to kiss at his drooling shaft when he starts huffing, “Just suck it doll, don't need to be teasin’ me and shit.”

“Sorry daddy.” you murmur.

You take him all in your mouth, using your tongue to wet his dick more.

“Oh god damn, I knew you were the one… god, good girl.” he groans. It's filthy, in the gruffy voice he knew you loved. “I knew I was right to take you. Got a mouth like an angel.”

The comment made you dizzy. I was right to take you.

You continue to work him, until he pulls you off. A sign he's close.

“Come ride me darlin, let me feel that tight lil hole.” he grins at you.

You nod and allow him to undress your pajama shorts and panties off. He bunches the fabric up and brings them to his face, inhaling the scent you left behind.

Small things turned you on, you weren't sure why. Maybe proof he indeed was attracted to you and it was proof that you weren't just a toy he fucked.

Growing frustrated, Joel simply grabs you and places you on his dick with little to no effort. He's sheathed fully, he's completely inside of you. You whimper slightly.

“Now hush darlin, you’ve taken this cock about a dozen times now. Don't be so damn shy.” he tells you, shaking his head.

Joel begins pumping into you, while at the same time grabbing your hips and bouncing you on him. The movement was all too much, too dizzy. You try your best to keep up with him, but Joel is always an animal. Too insatiable to do really anything. So you do what you’ve learned to do best in these situations: you simply take it.

“Fuuuuck.” he moans. “God this never gets fuckin old. Your pussy is all mine, mine to have and mine to fuck. Got that?”

His stamina never amazed you, despite being almost over half his age he still fucked you like you’d imagine a young frat boy would. Only Joel was better. He knew what thrusts when and how to angle them to hit your little spot inside, knew how to send you seeing stars.

“You hear me?” Joel smacks you.

“Yes! I’m…I’m yours!” you agree and nod.

“Good.” he begins to pick up his thrusts. And you sat there, taking it like the good toy you have become for him. “Hate when I gotta repeat myself with you. You young people are so annoyin’, never fuckin listening.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Always are doll.” Joel kisses your forehead and his final thrusts get lazy, and he finishes inside you.

You both stay there for a little. Joel trying to catch his breath, his age truly showing. You cuddle into his chest, your head below his chin. In the beginning there were no small moments like this, only sex and he’d leave to shower or go back to Tommy.

But now, he likes to cuddle you and coddle you. Was the mean terrible raider that everyone feared…growing affection for you? No no. You couldn't delude yourself into thinking someone like him could love anyone, let alone someone he stole.