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marcyvamp1re-blog · 16 days ago

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ৎ୭. . . REVENANT ─── Bruce Wayne & Batfamily

Silly Little Bat

⊹ ٬ Headcanon. In a dark mansion, a broken doll becomes the reflection of a man who has lost everything. Bruce Wayne, trapped in his pain, embraces it as a substitute for the irretrievable, while his family watches in horror and desperation. The line between obsession and sanity blurs, and the war for the truth erupts, each word cutting deeper.

⊹ ٬ Word Count. 2,18k

⊹ ٬ Content. MDNI. Dark themes, violence/death, blood, family war, trauma, invasion of privacy, kidnapping (of a doll), Angst, disturbing content, corruption, isolation, paranoia, manipulation, emotional abuse, family conflict, abuse of power, emotional manipulation.

「 a person who has returned,

especially supposedly from the dead. 」

When the doll appeared, no one knew where it had come from. It was in an elaborate package, an impeccable wrapping, with a bow that seemed intended to disguise the horror it contained. The note, written in a handwriting that seemed familiar, read: “For Bruce Wayne.”

Alfred was the first to notice the package. He didn’t want to touch it, but in the end, he did. What else could he do? When he opened it, the expression on his face changed from curiosity to a mix of confusion and dread. He couldn’t help but let out a breath, his gaze fixed on the contents.

“What’s wrong, Alfred? Is it something about Y/N?” Bruce asked, a trace of hope still lingering in his voice.

But as Bruce approached, that hope vanished as quickly as it had come. What he saw before him was more terrifying than any monster he could have imagined.

It was her. Or rather, the cruelest version of what she had been. A doll so identical to Y/N that it seemed as if life itself had been condensed into a piece of plastic, fabric, and hair. The same clothes she had worn on her first arrival at the mansion. Her disheveled hair, as if the chaos of those difficult days had become embedded in her locks. But above all, that empty look, of abandonment, of desolation, as if the only thing left of Y/N was her shadow, trapped in that object.

It was an echo of tragedy, a cruel caricature of that moment when he lost his parents. A macabre mockery.

Bruce’s throat tightened, but he didn’t allow his face to soften. He stood frozen, staring at her, until his body succumbed to a spiral he couldn’t control. Memories assaulted him mercilessly. The dark street. The shadows that enveloped him as his parents fell, helpless to do anything. The violence of that moment, the anguish that still dragged him down, the pain that never left.

Bruce slumped in his chair in the Batcave, turning his face away so Alfred wouldn’t see him. His chest heaved, and with trembling hands, he embraced the doll. He squeezed it desperately, as if it were the only link he had left to the past, to her, to the girl he had once been. He held it as if he could, for an instant, relive those days when everything seemed to make sense.

He cried silently. Tears fell like an invisible river, but the sound that accompanied his weeping was the same as that of a broken city. And so, for a second, he felt like a child again.

Alfred, with a dull expression, left quietly, but he saw it. He saw how that doll was the last drop that spilled Bruce Wayne's sanity.

What Alfred couldn’t foresee, what he couldn’t even imagine, was what happened the next day. When he entered the dining room, while setting the table with the usual routine, he saw Bruce. It was not the upright posture of a man facing the day, but that of someone who had fallen into an invisible trap. With a disturbing stillness, Bruce placed one more plate on the table. A plate that didn’t fit, that didn’t belong in the place it was meant to be. Next to his place, he set it down. The doll.

The butler observed in silence, unsure if what he saw was a macabre joke or the manifest pain of a broken man. The doll was now dressed in clean clothes, her hair neatly arranged with a meticulous care that could only have come from the hand of someone who had too much time to think, too much time to feel. He doubted Bruce was the one who had arranged it, but in the end, he was the only one who knew of its existence. The only one who knew that emptiness.

When the kids arrived, their gazes fell upon the doll. There weren’t many words, just murmurs in low voices, comments under their breaths, attempts to ignore it. But there was something in the atmosphere, a tension that filled it with a presence that refused to be silenced. Everyone, except Damian.

When the little one entered the room, he saw it, and his eyes widened. His gaze didn’t reflect confusion, but pure disdain. As if something in his mind had exploded, as if that scene had become the manifestation of everything he didn’t understand, everything that terrified him.

“What the hell is that thing?” he roared with venom, his voice piercing like a sharp dagger. He looked at his father, then at everyone else at the table with an indomitable fury. “Who was the jokester who dared to make that stupid replica of my sister?”

The air tensed, and time seemed to stand still for a second. Damian's rage was like thunder, but no one was willing to respond. There were no words. However, Bruce's response came as a deadly whisper, cold and definitive, an answer that was for no one but himself, for that abyss within his soul that had always swallowed his fears.

“It’s not a thing,” he said, his voice tinged with an unsettling calm, a calm that froze everything around him. “It’s Y/N. And sit down and shut up. She’s bothered by loud noises.”

The room fell into an absolute silence. No more words. No attempts to contradict him. The others didn’t dare to breathe, as if the air itself could ignite and consume them. Everyone looked down, unable to face the truth hidden in the delicately dressed figure, a figure that represented more than just a toy. It was a reflection of Bruce's desperation, a reminder of the deep cracks that had never healed.

The glass of milk that Bruce poured with a too-calculated precision on the table was not just for the doll. It was an offering. An attempt to feed what could no longer be nourished. The mansion, so big and empty, felt even lonelier in that moment, like a labyrinth with no exit. The anxiety that hung in the air was not just from those present. Bruce was trapped in his own cycle of pain. And the doll, the damned doll, was the only one who understood him.

The others, though silent, understood: the thread that held Bruce wasn't visible, but it was on the verge of breaking.

Days slipped by like shadows, each dragging with it a sense of unease and growing anxiety. The doll was no longer a novelty. It had become just another presence in Wayne Manor, as if it had been there all along, as if its existence was natural. Wherever Bruce went, she was there. In the office, in the Batcave, her small figure sat there, still, with the unsettling perfection of someone who could not move on her own. Though her face held no expression, the doll “played” like a lost child in a world she didn’t understand, simulating a normality that didn’t exist.

During breakfasts, snacks, and dinners, the doll occupied a special place next to Bruce. Her glass of milk, always empty, always vacant. The milk slid down her plastic lips, like a routine, as if it were a ritual that could not be interrupted. Sometimes, Bruce tucked her in to sleep, his trembling hands as he draped the blanket over her. The gesture was strange, almost paternal, but beneath that apparent calm, his mind was a whirlwind.

At first, he thought it would all end there. Bruce and the doll, a tacit agreement between them. The others would search for the real Y/N, the one who should be out there, lost, missing. But, as always in his life, things were never simple, never stayed in place.

It was a gray morning, one in which Bruce couldn’t help but feel trapped in the same cycle of anguish. As every day, the doll was at the table, by his side, with her glass of milk, but something was wrong. Alfred, upon entering the living room, was the first to notice it. A sound, a fragility, as if everything that had been built around the doll had shattered.

When he saw it, his heart stopped for a second. The doll was broken. Her porcelain body was cracked, her hair disheveled, her face a distorted grimace that it had never had before. And there it was, in the middle of the living room, like a brutal reminder of what was happening, of what Bruce had created.

The air cut sharply. A deadly tension spread through the house, as if a bomb was about to explode. Bruce, upon seeing the doll, said nothing. His breathing became heavy, his eyes fixated on the doll's cracks, as if that fracture were a reflection of his own broken self. Something inside him crumbled.

And then, the war began. It was not a war of weapons, nor of blows. It was a psychological war, a war of unresolved emotions and guilt. The members of the Wayne family, those who knew him better than anyone, began to speak. The words crossed, like daggers thrown mercilessly.

“What the hell have you done, Bruce?” Dick said, his voice tense, marked by a mix of fury and concern. “You’re losing control.”

Damian, with disdain in his eyes, looked at the broken doll. “Do you think you can replace Y/N with this? With that?” His voice was cold, cutting. “It’s just a piece of plastic."

Barbara, on the other hand, remained silent, but her eyes spoke more than a thousand words. She knew what was happening, saw the imminent collapse in Bruce. No one dared to say it out loud, but they all knew: Bruce was not just searching for Y/N. He was searching for a way to save himself.

“It’s just a doll!” Tim shouted, the rage evident in his tone. “It’s not going to bring her back!”

But Bruce, with his gaze lost on the broken doll, couldn’t hear. His mind, tormented by guilt, pain, and anxiety, couldn’t process any more. “She’s here,” he murmured, almost like a prayer. “She’s here with me. She’s always been here.”

And Bruce broke.

The war was not about the doll. It was about the pain, about the inability to accept the irreparable. Bruce was fighting against his own demons, a battle that no one could win. The doll, in its broken state, was just a reflection of the fractures that already existed within him. And now, they were all trapped in the same spiral, in the same darkness that he had created

Note ───── This story came to me as an anonymous request, something unexpected but incredibly interesting. I had never heard of such dolls before, but there's something unsettling about the idea that an inanimate object could carry so much emotional weight. As I wrote, I couldn't help but imagine Bruce at his most fragile, holding that doll as if it were all that remained of his humanity.

And honestly, I was more than sure that Bruce would crucify the Batkids for what they did to the doll, especially Damian. He was the one who, in some way, broke it, an act that would only multiply Bruce's guilt. The Batkids would surely never forget that day.

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neteyamslovrr · 2 years ago

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RETURN - PT 1

summary: five years ago he left you. left you alone with nothing but memories of your love. so how dare he come back now?

contents: 1.5k words, fem!omaticaya reader, angst, swearing

authors note: AHHHH first chapter i'm so excited to post this guys!! thankuu to all my mooties that helped me brew this series

Nothing could ever surmount to the despair you felt that day. The day he looked into your weeping eyes, looked right into your aching soul, and told you he was leaving.

Leaving. You begged him to take you with him. Pleaded with his pained expression to let you stay with him. To take you with him. To walk every journey together.

But he didn’t. He shook his head, pursing his lips that have kissed you for the last time. Crossing his arms that embraced you for the last time. He said no. One simple word that crushed your entire self.

“It won’t be safe, I can’t take you from the forest, this is your home.” No. No he was your home! He was your everything. The last face you look at when you say goodnight to the day left behind you. The one you would run to, so you could tell him everything good and bad. The man you imagined your entire life to be with.

That same man who was running from his home, to never return back to you.

You pleaded with him, crashing onto your knees, wrapping your arms around his torso. Crying into him as you begged to accompany him. How could he leave you? How could he have the heart to tear out yours.

“Y/N…let go.” His deep voice ring deep in your ears. You knew he was talking about your physical grip on him. But it felt so much deeper. Let go. Let go of us. Let go of everything we ever were. Let go of me.

You shook your head desperately, hands still clinging to his body. The rough soil beneath you cutting into your knees but no cut would ever be as deep as the one he had laid into your soul.

It was as if the hands he took to pry your frail body off him were the daggers that were slicing up your heart. Leaving wounds so deep they would never heal. How could you ever heal from this?

You looked up at him, tears letting his cheeks dampen, his face showing nothing but grief as he met your hurt eyes.

“I have to go…Y/N you know I have to.” You did. You knew you had no say in this. Your words were insignificant to begin with.

His figure crouched down in front of you. Wiping the salty tears that stained your cheeks. He saw the way your chin quivered as he caressed your beautiful face.

A salty, sweet kiss was the last one you ever shared with him. A kiss you both cried into, gripping onto each other knowing it was the last time. It was bittersweet. To share a moment so close together only to be ripped apart.

All that connected you both was memories. Memories that now serve you nothing but hurt.

Five years had passed. Five dreadful years.

You were now a 20 year old woman. Adorned with your bow and the physique of a fit warrior. Though no amount of time could ever heal the cuts he left so deep in you.

For the first year, you were nothing but a shell. Never eating, never sleeping. You simply existed. Which was a chore to do without him.

You wished nothing but to stop existing. To stop experiencing every bit of sadness, every bit of grief. To stop mourning the loss of the only man you could ever love.

Tears were your most worn accessory, no one ever daring to tell you they looked bad. Too scared to send you spiralling even more than you already had.

Though, those times you spent rocking in your hammock. Looking at the stars that lit up the night sky, those cuts that ran deep within you, the cuts that caused so pain. They started to seep.

Started to seep blood red rage.

How could he ever have left you? Was he so selfish to not think of the effect this would have on you? Did he simply not care?

How was the one time he decided to act selfishly be the time wounded the one who loved him most? To be so selfish, to claim he would be keeping you safe.

Safe to what? The sky-people that reigned free through your planet. Constantly on the verge of war to aliens that had no consideration for your people. Just like he had no consideration for your heart.

You wanted to hate him. You wanted to hate him so bad, that every memory of him would fade into a blood red image of evil. That every memory would turn into a disgusting thought of a disgusting man.

You wanted to hate him with every fibre in your body. But you couldn’t.

Maybe that’s when everything stopped looking so blood red. When everything dulled out. Nothing mattered, he would never come back.

So with a tainted heart and an aching soul, you accepted that you would never experience the love of your mate every again. Never feel his touch, hear his voice, smell his scent, taste his kisses. You would never be with him.

That’s were Va’tep entered into your life. Barging into your knocked down walls and building a crappy foundation.

Va’tep, Tarsem’s younger brother. One year your elder. A fierce warrior, a man who refused to lose, a man who claimed what was his. And to him, you were his.

Your parents always longed for status. To be high up in the clan. You were their golden ticket, finding your way into the heart of Toruk Makto’s eldest son. They rejoiced in your heart’s residence, rejoiced in the fact that you fulfilled their one wish. They were your number one advocate. Pushing you to train for your rite of passage ever since you became closer with the boy. They worked every inch of their being towards the union between the pair of you.

But the hard work washed away as fast as the waterfall plunged.

Washing away all your dreams, your happiness, your meaning. It washed away your parent’s status, Va’tep being the life guard that pulls them out of the strong currents.

Nothing could ever amount to him though. Your heart resided with someone else as your body laid with his. You felt yourself fill with shame every time you shared a touch. A shiver of disgust running down your entire body. Breaking the vow of your love towards the boy who broke you.

“Where’s your head at beautiful?” That was what he called you. Beautiful. His voice would never be as sweet as his. Never send the right shivers through you.

Va’tep’s calloused hands caressed your cheek, so rough it felt as if he was dragging you with his touch. Everything he did was rough. Rough like the soil you pleaded on.

Maybe this was Eywa laughing in your face. Giving you a man so opposite to the man you craved so desperately. Even after 5 years, Eywa would never let you forget those memories.

Shrugging his hands off your body, he let out a low hiss. One that showed his offence towards your actions. A hiss so quiet, it would only be heard if you cared. But you didn’t. Something else was clouding your mind, taking your attention away from him. And it wasn’t just your past lover.

You made your way towards the growing crowd of people that formed around the entrance of High Camp. Va’tep’s calls after you were silenced by the gasps and whispers of your people that were creating confusion that bubbled in your stomach.

Pushing yourself to the front of the crowd, definitely stepping on the feet of others. You looked for the source of the commotion. Ears perking up and eyes squinting to find the one thing people were gawking at.

Though now as you look towards the source, you wish you minded your business. Everything was coming back. Every emotion, every curse, every thought, every tear. They all fell on top of you, crushing your soul as you let out a small whimper in fear.

The source was making its way towards you. No. No. NO. This can’t happen. This cannot be happening. Feet stumbling as you paced backwards, avoiding looking straight ahead.

Dread filled your entire being. Filling it from your toes until it felt as if it would spill out of you, gurgling in the pits of your stomach. No. No. NO.

Crashing into the back of a person, you were forced to halt your escape. Frozen in shock as you looked at the man who had broken your heart and given it back to you.

Lips quivering, tears pooling in your eyes. He reached his hands towards you. How could he come back? Why was he back? This is all some sort of sick dream. A nightmare.

“My beautiful girl.” His voice was deeper, still so sweet it would cause a cavity. It enticed you. You had been without his voice for so long.

So long…because he left you. Because he was cruel and selfish.

Shaking your head profusely, just like you did that dreaded day. Your hands shook as you pointed at him, an accusatory finger aimed at him as your mind swirled.

“I’m here now.” He should have never left, he should have NEVER left. What a sick fuck. To come back expecting open arms when all you wanted was to never have your arms leave him. “Beautiful? What is it?”

“I am not your beautiful, Neteyam.”

tags: @8resa @ilovejakesullysdick @neteyamsblog @live-laugh-neteyam @reyalvr @trashfox @darkacademictrash @scntfrhs @dreamyescapesfromreality @fanboyluvr @neteyamzmate @oceanstar19 @sharkybabe9

thankyou sm for reading lovelies!! reblogs + replies sososososo appreciated ilysm ily ily

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kykyonthemoon · 5 months ago

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Cookies for the birthday boy

When MC bakes cookies for Zayne on his birthday.

── .✦ Zayne x MC (F.Reader)

With the appearance of other MLs and side characters.

── .✦ Tags: AU, childhood, fluff, sweet, birthday fic, MC and other characters are children, flashfic

── .✦ Word count: less than 500w

── .✦ Ky Ky's notes: This little piece is my entry to a LaD Hotel Discord event.

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - closed for the time being.

When MC and Caleb arrived at Zayne's house, all of their friends were present.

Rafayel was out in the garden, conversing excitedly with the fish. Sylus sat with the crows atop the tree, staring down and smirking at her. Xavier was cuddled up on the sofa, enjoying a nice nap. In a corner of the room, Yvonne was instructing Greyson on how to correctly hang the lovely banner. Thomas and Jeremiah were playing video games together. She also caught the twins Luke - Kieran trading hoods and masks, confusing everyone and making it impossible to tell the difference. All was present, just like at school. Only the birthday boy was yet to appear.

She anxiously fixed the bow on her head and gripped the cookie basket safely. Caleb saw this and softly patted her hand.

"I'm sure Zayne will like your present!"

She nodded. Since being adopted by Grandma and Caleb and moving to the area, she had made many new friends. Including Zayne. It was his birthday. She requested Grandma to help her make frosted sugar cookies for him. She was quite nervous to offer him the gift in person.

However, before Zayne showed up, her cookie basket was almost empty!

When Zayne's mom placed the cookies on the table, everyone wanted to try. One for each person. Everyone praised how delicious MC's baking was. In the blink of an eye, the plate was empty!

“Huh? Where did the cookies go?” Xavier asked sadly.

“I whink Wywus aw em allllll!” Rafayel replied with his mouth full of cookies. (“I think Sylus ate them all!”)

"Boss has to eat a lot to grow quickly!" Luke and Kieran spoke at the same time.

Even though the party was still fun, she felt bad since she had not left any cookies for Zayne. Later, she caught him in the garden alone. She said:

“Sorry Zayne. I… I wanted to give you cookies…”

Zayne noticed her sadness and replied: "It's fine. I don't really like cookies.”

It was as if she had been struck by lightning. She exclaimed, gasping for air, and clutched the hem of her garment with both hands.

"Z-Zayne doesn't like… my cookies?…"

Seeing that she was about to burst into tears, Zayne panicked.

“It's not like that. I mean… Please, don't cry… I'm sorry.”

It was too late. The faucet from her eyes had just been opened. She cried out, confusing Zayne even more. Regardless of what he said, she kept on weeping. Even if he made a snow seal for her, it would not be enough to fix the situation. At last, he took her into his arms and caressed her back.

“Be good… There there…”

Zayne's warmth caused her to stop sobbing. She snuggled into his arms. It was his birthday, but why did she feel like she was receiving a gift?

Fortunately, Zayne's mom had quietly kept some cookies just for her son that day.

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sris-skies · 4 months ago

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MY ASSASSIN- seeun xikers

“you must have a wife, seeun. you are the crown prince of this kingdom and are of marriageable age- if anything you are nearly over the appropriate age of a prince being married or betrothed!” the king bellowed down to seeun from the throne, the queen petting his arm to keep him civil when addressing their son. seeun clenched his jaw, he was only just 19, there was so much out there for him to explore- that he had to explore- before he became shackled down by a boring and god forbid a dull marriage.

“yes father, I understand” seeun said through gritted teeth, keeping his head down out of respect. “so, your mother and I have decided that there shall be a ball held tonight where all of the single and eligible young women in this kingdom will be in attendance. you are to choose a future wife by the end of the night, and that is final” the king said sternly. “seeun sweetie, you know we just want you to end up with someone, it would break our hearts to know that you ended up alone because you were… you know… traveling. and you know that as part of your duty as crown prince, you must have an heir at some point to continue on the royal bloodline” his mother said, attempting to be sympathetic to seeun, but he could feel her underlying message; they wanted him to settle down, they wanted him to be forced into a lifeless marriage. he hated that. “thank you mother, I understand, I shall take my leave now, thank you” seeun said, fighting back his feelings of seething, bowing politely to his parents and leaving the throne room, his fist clenched tightly from agitation.

“y/n, this is important, you need to execute this mission or you will be executed yourself.” her best friend, junghoon, said firmly, holding her hands comfortingly. “I know, fuck, I know junghoon. its crazy, i have to kill the fucking crown prince. if I don’t kill him, they will kill me, and if I do kill him, the fucking palace is going to kill me if they find out it was me! I’m so stressed, why me junghoon” y/n weeped, shaking slightly from the stress of her situation. “hey, hey, y/n, listen to me- it’s going to be ok, you’re not going to be found, and if you fail the mission, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. I love you more than life itself, I can’t live without you” junghoon said softly, one of his hands going up to brush away any of her tears gently. “I grew up with you, you’re pretty much like the sister I never had- I cannot afford to lose you” he continued, pulling y/n into a hug as she cried. “whatever happens, I will keep you safe, I promise” he vowed quietly to her, the dim lighting of the barn hiding them from the cold, harsh outside world.

y/n walked smoothly into the ballroom, internally shaking and attempting to keep her breathing stable. she was dressed, ironically aptly in a navy, gothic ball gown, with long sleeves and small feather details, matching her raven inspired mask. they had chosen her dress for her, they liked the dramaturgy of her killing the crown prince in an outfit inspired by a bird largely associated with death. it made her skin crawl. she held her head high and confidently, elegantly surveying the ballroom as she accepted a flute of champagne to calm her nerves. her eyes scanned over each and every face, trying to figure out who was who beneath the masks. she finally located her target- the crown prince, seeun. she could feel her blood boil under her skin, fighting against the chill of disgust creeping along her spine. this was the man who was going to take over the fucking kingdom who enforced the system that put her in this situation in the first place. they hoarded all of the wealth and left the lower caste with nothing, the royalty was the very thing that forced her father to sell her to them. they who made her into an assassin to pay off a debt she didn’t even deserve. and it was all the royalty’s fault. she could feel her resolve harden, the knives hidden within her sleeves becoming more known and somehow more… comforting.

she knew what she had to do. she moved smoothly through the bustling ballroom until she was closer to the crown prince, but not close enough so that she could remain inconspicuous. one of her knives slipped down from its place in her sleeve, her fingers closing comfortably around the handle of the knife. with one swift motion, she threw the knife. her aim was notorious for being perfect, so it should’ve ended up embedded in the crown prince’s back… so why was it embedded in the pillar next to him. did he dodge it??? shit. shit she was done for. the crown prince turned around slowly, trying to look for the assassin- for her. somehow this hadn’t raised the attention of anyone around them, causing y/n to attempt to play it cool, she had three more knives hidden in her sleeves. she had three more tries at completing her mission, at escaping the death penalty from them.

his eyes caught on the young woman whose face was hidden behind her mask, her eyes sharp and angry that he had dodged her attack- her knife buried in the pillar next to his head making him acutely aware of her intentions. his father’s words rang in his head as he looked at her, ‘you will marry any woman from this ball of your choosing’, and the corners of his lips began to turn upwards. he already was being forced into marrying someone- why not make it more fun?

he bowed, overly charismatically, towards the young woman who was trying to disguise her fury, placing a kiss upon her hand with a wink and his signature mischievous grin before asking her smoothly, “may I have this dance my darling raven?”. giving her no time to react, other than a stunned nod, he swiftly transitioned the two into the starting position for the next dance- a more intimate waltz this time. he could see the cogs whirring away in her head from how her eyes were moving subtly around, causing his smirk to grow ever more. oh this would be fun.

having regained her resolve after her first failed attempt, y/n deftly slipped her second knife out from her sleeve and into her hand that was not being used to dance with him- yet. the crown prince pulled her closer, as was required for this specific dance, which she used to her own advantage, bringing the knife against his chest in a way that it could only be seen by the two of them. she smiled slightly, thinking that she would finally be able to complete her mission- her first failure was already an embarrassment for her previously perfect record, when a low chuckle comes from the crown prince as he maneuvered their hands so that her second knife was now on the floor. “did you really think I would be that easy to kill, sweet raven? how low you must think of me” he said smugly, subtly kicking the knife away and to the side of the ballroom. she ground her teeth in pure irritation, this was her second attempt and she still failed?? Normally she didn’t even need a second attempt- it was borderline humiliating for her! “not at all, your highness, merely… keeping you on your toes” y/n answered smoothly, trying to cover up the fact that she was pissed he’d thwarted her a second time. “of course you were, sweet raven, only having my best interests at heart I presume?” he smirked down at her as they danced. the nickname he used only added to her agitation- ‘sweet raven’??? what kind of a psycho calls a stranger that?? “that’s not the only thing i intend on having at your heart” she murmured back, her tone sickly polite. “my, what a charmer you are” the crown prince remarked, his smirk somehow even more prevalent- showing that he had understood her underlying threat of stabbing him.

the song came to an end, with seeun bowing obnoxiously charmingly to her before walking over to his father and mother who were seated on the balcony, surveying the ball’s proceedings (and if his guess served him right- to see if he had found a future wife).

seeun cleared his throat, his grin growing ever larger in anticipation of the mischief he would cause, and proclaimed to the guests, “treasured attendants, I thank you all warmly for coming to this masquerade. I am more than pleased to announce that I have selected my bride to be from all of you stunning ladies in attendance tonight. my future wife is the masked lady raven”. as he spoke, his eyes locked onto the young woman, grin growing impossibly more as he saw her standing frozen in the center of the room- clearly dumbfounded and seething with rage. he had made his selection and she was an unmarried and uncourted lady in attendance at the ball- he had backed her into a corner. her jaw clenched as her mind raced. what the fuck?this wasn’t an option anyone had planned for. but maybe… maybe it could keep her safe? y/n had to pretend to be politely shocked and excited for his selection, cringing internally from the harsh and critical stares coming from the other women in attendance at the ball. she couldn’t blame them, they actually wanted to marry him, she fully did not. she was ushered up the stairs by the palace guards, up to where the king, queen and crown prince were standing. she curtseyed to the royal family, her whole mind going blank from sheer shock. “welcome dear” the queen said warmly- sickly warmly- to her. the whole night went by in a whirlwind, all the events, conversations and arrangements blurring together as y/n’s mind struggled to keep up. and to add insult to injury, the crown prince was standing by her side, fucking smirking the whole time. what kind of sick torture was this that he had planned for her

happy birthday @yuniniverse and @cherrycolaberry! (also happy birthday ig to yujun and hunter too lol- im joking, love the twins fr fr)

#xikers #xikers imagines #xikers x reader #xikers fluff #park seeun #xikers seeun #my assassin- seeun

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c0smiclatt3 · 5 months ago

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GEPARD LANDAU: Devotion. - part 2.

(a royal au!) after your uncle's betrayal and assassination, your father takes his place as king, thrusting you in the public eye as the crown princess. as you leave your days of dreaming behind you, you zero in on your duty: to earn your citizens' trust, to restore your family's tarnished reputation, to elevate your kingdom to the place where it once was through a political marriage. but as the days loom nearer, your bodyguard is torn between his duty to your kingdom and duty to your happiness as he realizes - this isn't what you really want. (part 1)

☾₊ ⊹ TAGS: royal!au, fem reader, bodyguard gepard, friends to lovers, unwanted arranged marriage trope, descriptions of war/violence, 16+

Since your earliest memories living in your family's estate, you have always been attended to: the maids and butlers often followed you, huffing and puffing as they tried to keep up with you and your insatiable need to drink in the world. Yes, those days were filled with warmth: the cook sneaking you an extra cookie, a butler lifting you on his shoulders to help you reach a book, your little fingernails crusted with dirt as you helped the gardener pull weeds (and the subsequent tutting of the maid as she soaked your hands in a bowl, stern but patient nonetheless as she scrubbed them through).

But your best days by far were the days when you rose from your pillow groggy and grumbling, when the maids exchanged a knowing look between themselves and tapped on your shoulder: "My lady, it seems we are out of milk. Would you care to accompany us into town?"

You would promptly scarf down your plate in a manner that would have had you chastised by your mother, swing your legs off the chair and dash upstairs, and you were throwing yourself into the carriage quicker than the maids could yell "slow down, my lady!" You'd return home that afternoon, asleep in a maid's lap, her fingers gently combing through your hair, and your belly full of sweets.

You were waited on, most certainly, but even so, you loved those who attended to you as much as they loved you, their names and gentle smiles etched into your mind forever.

Because you couldn't bear to remember their tears.

When you learned that their duty was bound to the grounds, that servants were servants of the land and didn't follow their masters to their new residences, you tried to take it with grace. You stood on the veranda steps, facing them as they stood in a line. The moment you stepped off these grounds you were a princess. But standing in front of them, you were just their little girl. Your eyes felt hot and your throat burned. They knew you well enough by then to know why.

Your father shuts the carriage door, leaving you and the estate staff a moment alone. A gentle breeze. The birds sing a farewell in the trees.

"Your highness-"

You didn't let her finish her sentence. You barrelled straight into her arms and cried like you were just a kid. "Please," you sob, "please don't call me that... Not yet," you squeeze. "Just a moment longer." The butlers and cooks, the maids and the groundskeepers, embraced you like they bid their own child farewell.

The carriage pulls away. You watch their figures disappear into the horizon. You wonder if this is why babies used their first breaths to weep and kick and scream as they are torn from their mother's wombs.

From the moment you stepped into the palace, you were greeted with the reverence befitting of a princess. "Your highness," the butler bowed his head as he opened your carriage door. "Your highness," the line of maids murmured as you ascended up the steps. Your items were brought in your room before you even made it to the top of the steps, as if whisked away by winds themselves at your command. You opened your room door to see them already stacked neatly by your bed, a maid standing by.

"Oh, thank you-" you offer a warm smile, but she seems to jolt as she hears your voice behind her and scurries away before you can meet her eyes.

This sort of politeness, deference, - whatever you may call it - coloured your day from sunrise to sunset. Your servants looked at you trembling, as if one misstep could send them straight to the gallows. Your attempts at conversation were seen as trials, your smiles as mercy, before they hurried away like they always did.

True to his word, Gepard tailed you like a shadow, like a ghost. He was a spectral presence in your life, standing at attention when you opened your door, by the dining hall doors during your meals, outside the study while you read.

"Captain," you asked quietly one afternoon as he watched you eat your meal, "are you sure you wouldn't like any?"

No words. Only a sharp shake of his head.

One morning you sit by the windowsill, gazing at the garden grounds down below. "It's a beautiful morning, Captain."

He nods his head.

It seemed that his, like every other staff member under this roof's, goal was to fade from your life as much as possible and going outdoors as the new princess was out of the question.

You grew lonely. Horribly, suffocatingly, achingly lonely.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You live for the nation, you die by the nation. That is what Gepard had drilled into his head from the moment he took his soldier's oath. In all the hours spent since his early youth, steel slashing against straw dummies, sparring with his comrades, memorizing just the right angle to kick an opponent, this is what he knew. Those words prepared you to be a soldier: one among a million, marching in mechanical synchrony, the flag raised proud above the infantry.

They did not prepare you to go from kissing your younger sister goodnight to watching your comrade, sent too young into the battlefield, die in your arms. They did not prepare you to go from affectionately ruffled hair and 'good jobs' to watching life bubble from your mentor's lips as you plead for him to stay.

They did not prepare you to be fifteen years old and watching a unit of men raise their heads to you, bowing their heads as they fell to their knees. "The captain has died in a mutiny. Awaiting orders, Captain Gepard Landau."

Gepard Landau was a soldier. Gepard Landau was the captain. At a certain point a soldier must learn to clear his head. Empty his heart and take up his sword. His body was a vessel to carry out the will of the crown.

He returned from the war with his gaze distant, his mind clear, and his heart still. He hadn't so much as smiled since he returned. Not when he was adorned with the captain's crest in front of the whole kingdom. Not when the army paraded through the streets, the children beaming up at him and the civilians gratefully shaking his hand. Not when he was assigned a post as the royal bodyguard, one of the highest responsibilities and honours. He moved through his days like a ghost.

Stand back. Stand guard. Stand by.

But Gepard Landau was no fool. And maybe that was why he felt the slightest bit guilty for his impassiveness as he stood and watched the princess standing, a somber expression on her face as she stared down at the garden rose bushes.

Gepard had met her in the spring and soon spring had bloomed to summer. Those days passed just as well as they could have for a soldier freshly returned from a war and immediately appointed captain. They passed like an incoherent blur.

As grateful was he was, the bodyguard position was not the most exciting one, but it was a welcome change of pace after the war. Most days he stood, that empty expression on his face as he tried to clear his head, the princess doing whatever it was she pleased, he supposed.

At times his silences would be interrupted by her occasional questions, to which he mostly responded with a polite shake of his head. A quick nod. If he was being honest, most times he wasn't even paying attention to what she had been asking at all.

He knew little about her despite being the person who spent the most time around her. When asked by the maids what her preferred colour was for her dresses he gave no answer and they blinked incredulously. When asked by the cooks what sorts of dishes she may appreciate he only shrugged. He paid little attention, his mind always elsewhere, and maybe that was why he didn't notice it sooner.

It was a hot summer's day, the kind that wasn't agreeable with the soldiers' uniform. When stepping outside, Gepard wore his helmet like he was meant to: his face out in the open air was a dangerously appealing target, and seasoned soldiers took no chances. Under the beating sun's heat he felt properly boiled in his suit of armor, but he had experienced far worse before. He stood tall, following the princess as she seemed to float around the garden, some faraway look on her face. Then she stopped, turning away from him, facing down at a rosebush, and she didn’t move for a long time.

Gepard half wonders if he should say something, but the words didn't come to him. He knew to speak with his fists. He was fluent in the exchange of punches. The whistle of an arrow. Gepard didn't break silences, he drew them out give him a chance to strike.

But there she stood, her dress fluttering in the summer breeze as if it may just carry her away, as if she wanted it to. Her hands fell to her sides, shoulders sagging.

She crouches there by the rosebush, but rather than lifting her face to the roses she dips her hands into the earth, the dirt sifting over and through her fingers. He watches her eyes close as she exhales. With her posture and her skirt deflated like that, crumpled to the ground, she almost looks like a trampled flower.

She stays there, as if rooted to the earth through her fingertips. Like she would crumble and stay there and the wind would grind her to dust.

She finally turns and looks back at him, expression unreadable. Distant. Through his helmet, he looks back at her. He curses it's limited visibility because for a moment he wonders if he can see a single tear roll down her cheek. Her lips pull into a tight line and she marches over, her feet beating steadily on the grass.

She raises a hand. For a moment her gaze is so intense he wonders if she's going to hit him.

She yanks his helmet off.

He looks down at her, head freed from the confines of his helmet, the open air hitting him like the relief of rising to the water's surface. His hair falls in his face. His cheeks are warm - from the humidity in the helmet, he was sure.

She looks at him, eyes looking at him like she was searching desperately for something there. His eyes flicker to her lip, which trembles. A pause. A breeze. She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut, turning around, her jaw tight.

"It's hot. Take that damned thing off."

Her words are far from ladylike but she doesn't seem to care. The helmet falls from her hand to the grass with a soft thud. She turns and trudges away, wiping furiously at her face.

Once, just this once, Gepard decides to disobey his orders and let her be.

writing masterlist | bot masterlist

☾₊ ⊹ AN: i realized i never made a taglist for this fic eeee if you want to be added to the taglist please lmk by dropping a comment asking to be added/an ask with your username but for now i just tagged people who had a positive response to the last post so i really hope this doesn't bother u T_T i won't tag any of you next time unless you explicitly leave an ask/comment/tag asking to be put on the taglist i just wasn't sure if you wanted to see part 2 since you seemed to like part 1 slkdjfksdjfksdj anyways! i uh hope you liked this part it's a lot of backstory i know i know

taglist: @kur0melon @our-turn @dear-purin

#hsr #hsr x reader #gepard landau #gepard landau x reader #gepard x reader #hsr fanfiction #hsr imagines #honkai star rail #hsr men x reader #hsr au #writing by junie

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madammidnightsblog · 2 years ago

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HXH Orgasm Denial

Sexual content.

Characters: Kurapika, Hisoka, Leorio, Illumi, Chrollo, and Feitan

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

Kurapika

Hates being denied

Sobs hard and shakes uncontrollably

Kurapika was laying against you, his back was pressed against your bare chest as your hand moves up his slippery base slowly before slipping back down to cup his balls. Soft sobs left his lips as your fingers gently pinched the area under his balls before bringing your hand back up to his angry tip. Pearly white beads of precum bubbled around the purpling mushroom head which your thumb swiftly wiped it away before drawing your hand back down. Fresh tears ran down his reddening cheeks along with small beads of sweat as the overwhelming urge to cum only grew but everytime his dick throbbed, your hand stilled and cupped his balls again and after you would press a kiss to his damp cheek while whispering how he can't cum just yet. Whines and cries left his lips as he tries to buck up into your hand in hopes youll feel sorry for him and keep going but you only hushed him and gently squeeze his balls which made him let out a whimper. The poor boy was slowly losing it due to you doing this for an hour now and his poor dick was aching and throbbing painfully in your hand but you showed no mercy and dragged your hand back up his base just to slip off then wrapping your hand back around his tip, gently tugging on the head to make him sob. His hips were stammering and bucking as sobs left his lips and begs to cum which only fell on deaf ears as you continue to torment the weeping cock.

Hisoka

Loves it, he is addicted to how much control you have over him

Has to be denied at least once a day

Purrs and lewd moans filled the dim room along with the sound of wet squelching of lube. Your fingers are deep in his gaping hole and they curl into his prostate which had his back bowing in bliss as cries of pleasure continued to roll off his tongue. Your lips were pressed against the middle of his back and it was enough to have shivers up his back all while you slowly trailed up to the back of his neck with open mouth kisses. His leaking dick was throbbing and twitching ad it hangs heavy between his spread legs, begging to be touched and emptied as his balls grew bigger with every thrust of your fingers. Your fingers slowly sink deeper into him before they scissor his aching hole open then curling them once more. Hisoka was growing closer to cumming and he let you know it by they way he purred your name but you ripped his orgasm away by taking your sopping digits out and let out a teasing remark. He couldnt be mad at you, he knew you'll let him cum very soon by the way you made him lay on his back before you hovered your dripping cunt over his dick, letting the angry pink dick slip between your lower lips to rub against the aching length.

Leorio

Gets very frustrated and barks orders

Wilp whimper once realizing he just made it worse for hin

You had enough of his mouth at this point. He kept telling you to let him cum and how unfair you were as if he forgot this was a punishment. Rasing an eyebrow, your hips snapped forward which made him yelp and grip the sheets under him tighter as the false dick was buried deep into his tight hole. Your thrust were rough and slow in a teasing manner which only made his stomach knot even more and begging to be soothed with a release but you just kept moving all while yanking him closer to you by his waist. You were bound to have your strap balls deep into him. Leorio felt as if he could cum soon but with the way your thrusts were threatening to stop and the pink cockring wrapped tightly around his blush pink dick made sure he wouldn't release anytime soon. His thighs were quivering and trying to close despite them being held open by cuffs on either side of the bed post so he was forced to endure the agonizing pace. Smirking, you began to move faster just to watch him squirm around and plea for you to let him cum.

Illumi

Pouts and softly whimpers

He likes the feeling of the overwhelming need to cum but hates having to hold back foe such a long time

Illumi almost feels nothing due to years of numbing his emotions so he enjoys being denied as it forces any and all emotions to the surface and allows him to be vulnerable with you. His hips jerking forward violently as the rough jean material on your thigh made him breath out moan, his wide eyes glossing over as they threatened to close as the intense pleasure bloomed under his heated skin. Your hand ran through his long, beautiful hair as you purred out praises and every word went straight to his already twitching cock which made your free hand wrap around his porcelain neck and gave it a firm squeeze, making his eyes rolls back and mouth gap with a moan while you say, "Cum and you'll forget how to breath" and the beautiful man almost caved in right there. Stilling his hips, he slowly opened his eyes to stare into yours with a pout and letting out a small whimper as your hand goes slack so you tightened it back up, choking him ever so slightly which makes his purr and slowly rut against your leg again with permission of course.

Chrollo

Hates it and glares at you

Will try to keep going only to be put back in his place

Chrollo was a man on mission and the mission was to fill his Mistress' pussy with his cum so he wasn't slowing down anytime soon. His hands were on your hips, gripping them tightly as he pounded into your sopping cunt which had you holding onto the sheet under you and letting out such lewd nosies that made the large man shiver. Leaning down, he buried his face in the crook of your neck as he grunts and moans your name while your arms slowly wrap around his neck to pull him closer. Your legs then wrapped around his waist to keep him buried deep in you as you moaned about how good of a boy he was for you and that made his large hands have a buring grip on your small waist. Hearing you container to praise him had him twitching and about to cum as his thrusts grew sloppy and carelessly but you slipped a hand into his messy black hair and yanked his head back before threatening to give him blue balls for a month if he cums before you. His thrusts grew slower as he glares at you but you just smile and pull him into a kiss which he was more than happy to melt into.

Feitan

Straight up cries

Nonstop begging and whining like a bitch

Tears fall down his face as he cries about how he wants to cum and how mean you're being while be bounces down on your fake cock, thighs shaking and threatening to quit under him as he been fucking himself on this fake dick for a hour now. You smiled up at your petite boyfriend and interlock your hands with his to keep him balanced and just to give him comfort while watching him wail pathetically above you. You couldn't help but coo at how pretty he looked crying and reminded him that he asked for it and it only made his teary eyes stare down at you while crying for a kiss. Sitting up, you pulled him into a kiss which he eagerly parted his lips for your tongue to slip past and explore his mouth, your tongue dancing alongside of his. You couldn't believe the usually badass boyfriend of yours was crumbling into a sobbing and lewd mess over being denied an orgasm. Pulling away, you laid back down to watch how he impaled himself on such a big and thick dick that has his stomach bulging every so slightly and his small cock begging to release but the way you just squeeze his hands kept him grounded. Your hands let go of his hands and found their place onto his hips to lock him in place and he sobbed about how mean you were as your hips would slightly jerk up and force him to bounce faster despite telling him not to cum, playing a game to see how much longer he could last.

#sub character #illumi x you #kurapika #leorio #feitan #chrollo x you #hxh kurapika #anime #sub illumi #sub Leorio #sub Kurapika #sub chrollo #sub feitan #sub Hisoka #sub hxh #x reader #x dom reader

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luminaryofblood · 4 months ago

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Snippet of the next chapter in my fic -- like I said, it IS something I intend on continuing! But as it is, presently got Milton on the way, so I'm just kinda writing what I can. 😅

First chapter can be found Here.

Kudos, Comments -- Especially Comments! -- Whatever -- always appreciated!

Especially now! 😩

~~~~

Cold and hard was the ground upon which he lay. The tattered rags with which he bundled himself did little to warm his body from the chill air.

His body shivered as he wrapped himself tighter, his exposed toes curling on themselves.

Still he slept. In spite of the biting cold.

Still he slept. In spite of the nightmares that haunted him.

But in his sleep he felt a presence close by. Something came to a sudden rest around him. And with a soft gasp, he opened his eyes to find Morgott beside him, staring back with that same level of alertness.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's alright."

Mohg shifted to sit himself up, flinching at the sudden prickle of pain in his abdomen. Morgott's hand came to a rest upon his shoulder, steadying him.

"Hey, you shouldn't be moving--"

"It's fine. It's... The bleeding's stopped..."

"But... You still shouldn't be moving."

"It's fine."

Morgott withdrew his hand after a moment, though not without a trace of hesitancy.

As Mohg sat up, he looked to Morgott, studying his face illuminated in the dim light by the lantern close by, and noticed the rings beginning to form beneath his brother's eyes. And Mohg could not help but frown.

"You... Haven't gotten any sleep, have you?"

Morgott bowed his head, rubbing at his shoulder.

"... How can I? Can't let anymore rats in."

There was a pause between the two.

Mohg drew a deep breath, reaching down to trace his fingers over the bandaging.

They had to abandon their last den. After what happened before.

They had been asleep. When all of a sudden Mohg was woken up.

It hadn't been the first time they'd been woken up by rats. Every now and again, he and Morgott would be woken up to the feeling of the little creatures nibbling at their flesh. An unpleasant sensation, but it gave them an opportunity to catch one to eat at a later time.

This one though was one of the big ones...

They were both asleep when it came. Sniffing about for food. And Mohg had the mistfortune of being chosen as its next meal.

He was awoken by the rat biting down upon him, taking him into its mouth, intent on taking off with him to some other dark corner of the Shunning-Grounds to be eaten in peace. Or perhaps shared. He could not say.

Morgott immediately came to Mohg's aid after hearing his cries for help. Charging at the rat with naught but a wooden plank to fend it off...

It was a ferocious beast. And they, two, were no more than children. But Morgott would not give up.

He smacked and jabbed at it with all the strength he could muster until it dropped Mohg from its jaws. And with a charge, he jammed the plank into its eye until it was lodged there; and he took his brother from the den as fast, and as far away as he could.

But the injuries Mohg had sustained were substantial, and the blood from the gashes made by the rodent's teeth weeped profusely.

Whatever supplies they had managed to scrounge up had been left behind in the den. And so Morgott sacrificed what little clothes he had on his person to help bandage his brother's wounds, in spite of Mohg's protests.

Even now, Mohg could not help but feel a sense of guilt as he looked upon his brother, utterly naked with naught to conceal him save for his fur.

"... It's not your fault."

"But it is!" Morgott insisted. "If I hadn't have been asleep, the rat wouldn't have gotten in. I could have protected you...!"

Oh, how it broke Mohg's heart, to see Morgott blame himself so...

Morgott had always been the stronger of the two. The hunter. The navigator. The protector. He had always maintained a face of bravery; but now, his resolve had been shaken. Mohg could not think of a time where he had seen Morgott so downhearted.

"But you still protected me," said Mohg, reaching out to Morgott and taking his hand into his own. "And you're protecting me now too... You fought for me, and you won... You told me to live and so I did... That's what's important, isn't it?"

Morgott lifted his head to look at Mohg, biting his lower lip.

Mohg himself was lacking in lips, so he could not emote as his brother could. But he had his own way of expressing himself. A slow blink of his eyes as silent reassurance, and a subtle squint to offer a smile.

After a moment, Morgott moved closer, coming to a sit at Mohg's side.

Seeing his brother move to be at his side, Mohg reached around to share some of his blanket with Morgott, who initially shrugged it off.

"No, you need it."

"Please Morg, you need to be warm too."

"I got fur..."

"Still not enough. I can see how its standing that you're cold too... Please?"

He bumped the flat of his head against Morgott's shoulder ever so gently, until at last Morgott caved, accepting one half of the blanket.

Perhaps it was a trick of the eye, but Mohg could have sworn he saw the beginnings of a faint smile...

"... I'm... Glad that you're feeling better," said Morgott at last, reaching his arm around to drape over Mohg's shoulder. And Mohg could feel, too, how Morgott's tail came to a rest just behind him, circling around him and adding yet another layer of warmth.

Reaching down, Mohg lifted the tail up, and brought it to a rest upon his lap, gently running his hand down along the fur.

"... It's 'cause I have you, Morg," said Mohg, resting his head upon Morgott's shoulder as he began to shut his eyes.

"Someday... I'll be strong like you."

"... You've got a strength of your own, Mo," said Morgott, resting his head against Mohg's.

"I'd be lost without you..."

#{{outofbloodboon}}#mohg lord of blood #Morgott the Omen King

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writingsofwesteros · 2 years ago

Note

requests are still open right?? 💓 if not i'm sorry and ignore this but if yes can i prompt: corlys and rhaenys had a fight and bc he doesn't want to be rough with her he as angry sex with reader maid (not non con but still dark) and afterwards he has regrets for cheating. bonus if afterwards he goes to rhaenys. if u don't like it you can also ignore it! 💗😊 thank you sm!

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

NSFW

“You are useless! It’s pathetic.” You heard the sound of your lady mistress from inside their private chambers. You knew you should leave but the idea of being punished by the head maid had you shivering. So you stayed just outside the door and waited as the arguing inside continued.

You began to chew nervously on your plump, bottom lip as you looked over your shoulder. You should leave, you thought to yourself. It was as if fate was not on your side as you moved to step away and the door quickly opened. “My Princess..” You softly whispered; bowing your head politely.

Her face softened if only slightly as she nodded towards you. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you finally stepped inside. “My Lord…” You gasped out nearly as you allowed your arms to fall to the side. The door fell shut behind you. “I can come back later?” You whispered out as Corlys turned around.

“No…you can stay.” His voice was rough and dark. You couldn’t understand the look in his eyes either. “In fact…” Corlys hummed; his voice deep as he stepped closer. “Turn around.” Your Lord ordered. You could only do as you were ordered and soon his body was brushing against your own.

“My Lord…” You whispered out shyly. His hands slowly moved up your sides and had you shivering. Corlys only hummed as his hands were soon on your breasts. “Please..” You wiggled into his embrace. He only moaned and you could feel his fat cock brushing against you from behind.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.” He purred into your ear as he slowly pushed you onto the bed. Your face flat against the sheets; you could smell him and his wife on it. You could not deny his words and Corlys knew it. His dark chuckle told you as much as his hand moved to his pants.

You whimpered and softly gasped out when you felt his fat cock brush through your weeping folds. There was no pretending now. “Good girl.” Corlys purred; his hand coming down on your now bare arse. The slap sounded out and had you whimpering even more into the sheets in front of you.

A sharp gasp escaped you when your Lord roughly pounded inside you. He completely bottomed in one thrust; impaling you on his fat cock. He took your breath away but Corlys gave you no rest. His hands stayed on your hips and forced you down as he silently pounded away at you.

Your soft, ample breasts bounced as you moved roughly back and forth. His fat head pushing against your spongy spot with ease. “Oh - oh gods..” You whimpered out as the pleasure only grew more intense. His thrusts only quickened as he harshly pushed deeper. The tight hold he had on you would leave bruises, you were sure of it.

“Fuck, that’s it..you take me so well.” The only thoughts in his mind was how good you felt around his cock. Corlys leaned in; burrowing into your neck as your whines of pleasure echoed around. Your eyes widened at the stretch as he pushed deeper. Your eyes rolled back as your stomach tightened some more.

Your toes curled once more as your pleasure began to move through your body; your climax soon approaching. His cock was soaked with your wetness as Corlys looked down and watched. He pushed you further into the sheets as you grabbed them as he began to lose control.

His thrusts quickened and became harder as he fucked you up the bed. “Yes..oh gods…” Your cries of enjoyment easily fell from you. His dark chuckle only grew louder before his moans took over. Your toes curled as his hand moved into your locks once more and pulled you back. Your soft, ample breasts are easily bouncing.

“Oh, I might just keep you.” Corlys purred. His arms wrapped around your body and kept you against him. His words pushed you over the edge as you shook against him. You squirted around his cock as he roughly rubbed at your clit. It only had you clamping down on his cock harder.

“Fuck! Gods..” He moaned out as his own release ripped through him. Usually he could last longer but not this time. Corlys thrust hard one last time before his warm cum was flooding you. He thrust again and again; pushing it deeper before removing himself. All you could do was collapse onto the bed.

Rhaenys knew something had transpired as soon as she returned to their shared room that evening. Her husband had his head in his hands as he stared at the floor. “Corlys…” She whispered. There was no answer as the Princess gracefully stepped to him; closing the distance.

“I’m sorry..” Corlys finally whispered out as his mind began to quieten down. Still, his heart pounded. His words only had the Princess confused as her eyes moved towards the bed - the bed that was more messy than it should be. “What did you do?” Rhaenys asked; her voice calmed for him.

“I did not want to do it to you – so I found someone else.” Corlys whispered out; shame littering his body but a darker part of him that grew by the seconds wanted to do it again. “Who?” The Princess asked; her heart racing as his hands found hers. It was not as if this was the first time he had done so.

Just never under their roof..never in their bed. “Our maid…” Corlys whispered out. His dark eyes staring towards the bed. He hated himself as he found himself growing hard at the memories. “At least you picked the prettiest.” She purred and her hands slowly moved up and down his thighs.

“I’m sorry…” He hummed; hardly knowing what to say to his wife as she slowly moved to her knees. “You should invite me, next time you take her…” Rhaenys whispered; a smirk dancing on her face as she slowly moved her hand into his pants. “Tell me about it.” The Princess ordered as she leaned in and hotly took his fat cock into her mouth.

If she focused - she could taste you. The thought alone only had her moaning around Corlys whose hand moved into her locks and his head fell back. Gods, he was so lucky, he thought to himself.

#corlys velaryon x reader #request

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jakegooglyeyes · 2 months ago

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Naiad - 2/3

Prev - Next

Pairing: Centaur!Jake x Nymph!reader (f)

A centaur has fallen in love with a naiad for a very long time. He deems himself too brutish to be near you, satisfied with watching you from a distance. Until one day, he hears the river goddess cries out for you, her child who was taken by humans.

Word count: 2000

Warning: very mild sexual content (the true warning is there is no actual smut)

Tagged: @gyllenhaalstories

Divider: @/firefly-graphics

Minor DNI

Jake helps you to your feet when the first glimmer of the sun pours through the cave's entrance.

In the light of day, you are able to fully take in the features of your rescuer. You have never been in such so close to a man before, even spending the entire night in his arms. You marvel at the shimmering blue in his eyes, reminding of the ponds you and your sisters spend days frolicking in. The centaur is reasonably good-looking, but the dark layer of hair covering his chest gives him a feral feeling not too far from his nature.

He bends down to let you climb on his back. As much as he would love to have you in his arms, it would be uncomfortable for you to be carried like that all the time. Moreover, he needs these hands for the bow, just in case the humans return.

With you riding on his back, holding on to his quiver's strap like a rein, he traverses the path around the hill until the sun is high. You watch as the dense, emerald foliage gradually thins, giving way to vibrant meadows dotted with wildflowers and shrubberies. Every now and then, a small critter dart away, startled by the sounds of heavy hooves.

He stops by a small creek and lets you rest under a tree while he goes and fetches fresh water from nearby. You express your gratitude with a nod and take a sip from the waterskin. The air becomes warmer as the sun is almost right above your head.

You wiggle your toes, noticing the throbbing in the wound is less intense than it was yesterday. The sparkling, inviting stream looks very tempting. Naiads are creatures born from water and are not fond of being under the heat of the sun for too long.

As long as you don't walk too fast, it's probably fine to take a few steps.

Noticing you looking around to find support, Jake winces, fearing your injuries might worsen, before realizing you are trying to get to the water. He scoops you up, completely disregarding your insistence that you can walk, and carries you to where you want to be. Even when he understands your protest, the centaur is not going to let your wounded feet touch the ground.

You are lowered into the water, body tingling with excitement as the coolness envelops your toes, your ankles, then your calves and thighs. Although the water is quite shallow, it's adequate. You decide to shed the fur cloak before soaking yourself. Besides, you have never been used to covering your body.

Bending your knees, you submerge yourself to the waist and allow the chill to ease your sores and weariness. Your hands glide through the water, breaking the stillness and sending ripples across the surface. The twinkling droplets splashing on your face and chest not only stir the tranquility of the creek but also the heart of someone busy tightening his bowstring.

The centaur's weapon nearly falls from his grasp as his eyes catch you, mesmerized by your playful gesture and the rivulets rolling down your bare skin.

He indeed had you in his arms during the night before. But the urgency of your predicament and the darkness suppressed most indecent thoughts. And before that, he has only seen you from far away, stealing fleeting glances of you by the river.

His eyes open wide, unable to escape your uncovered breasts glistening in the morning light. The protrusion in his throat moves up and down as he focuses on the tiny buds peeking through the stray strands of hair clinging to your damp skin.

His blood rages and growls, urging his beastly nature to take hold of you, kneading and pinching your breasts until you weep.

Or maybe he would gently kiss them with utmost devotion, cherishing them like a zealot would worship their gods, begging you to bestow your blessing on him over and over.

The centaur traces his gaze down your belly, as if your body hypnotizes him to do so. His eyes are drawn to the place between your thighs, barely obscured by the crystal-clear water. His mind is flooded with unspeakable images, all of which you writhe and moan under him.

A voice is telling him he can take you right here and, once the deed is done, bring you back to his den, never letting you go. His, forever.

As you turn to look at him, a look of terror washes over his face. As if it was the Goddess of the Hunt, Artemis herself caught him staring and was about to dole out punishment for his insolence.

The centaur, terrified by his own thoughts and afraid he might harm you, abruptly turns his back, leaving you bewildered by his sudden surge of panic. His face twists like he has just swallowed a fly as he prances away to hide behind a large tree.

Worried, you leave the water and take small steps toward the centaur to see if something is troubling him.

He peeks from behind the barrier, grimacing as he doesn't want to let your feet exhaust themselves. But in his current state, the centaur only wants the ground to open and bury him alive. He'd rather allow Hades to take him to the underworld than let you see him in his disgraced state. Let him be condemned for eternity in the abyss of Tartarus for his perversion.

Come here.

You beckon as you close the distance between you and Jake.

The stubborn centaur keeps circling the tree trunk as you walk around, trying to catch up to him. Seeing that he is not injured, you are relieved. The little silly chase almost reminds you of the lighthearted game you often played with your sisters.

Your injured feet hampered your steps and you keep finding yourself lagging behind him. Though, you suspect even if you are not hurt, your two limbs probably couldn't match his four, in terms of speed.

Eventually, he relents as he cannot bear seeing your wound worsen because of this foolish antics. He comes out from behind the tree, towering before you.

You stand opposite the centaur. His head hung low, avoiding your eyes, his impressive form stiff as his chest rises and falls with each ragged breath.

"Please don't look."

As you approach the centaur, the tremor in his voice, a low, anxious rumble.

The moment you spot his rigid manhood, jutting out between his hind legs, it's quite clear he's in a state of arousal. Jake shuffles backward, his eyes darting nervously, desperately trying to keep it hidden from you.

"It's unsightly. You should not dirty your eyes."

More words you can't understand. But he sounds unease.

It would be a lie to say you weren't startled by the sight of his erection. It's large and beastly. And as innocent and naïve as you are, the answer slowly dawns on you.

The deep longing in his eyes, the yearning in his voice drip out even when your skin is not in contact.

You are the object of his desire.

Your kind is no stranger to the lust of both gods and men. It can be a blessing or a curse, more often than not the latter.

You have heard frightening stories from your sisters about nymphs snatched away by those driven by the lust for them. Even you had the misfortune of almost being kidnapped by humans. You should be scared and disgusted, but oddly enough, you do not find him or his display of virility revolting. On the contrary, a strange but not unpleasant thrill swirls in the pit of your stomach.

The centaur's hooves are glued in place as he curses Eros in his head a thousand times. He's convinced that you'd be furious with him. Countless thoughts are racing through his head, but no word comes out. Jake wants to run away, but he is still wise enough to know he cannot leave you here by yourself. He wishes to explain, but what can he possibly say? The centaur looms over you, yet he feels as though he was an ant beneath the sole of your feet.

I do not hate you.

A warm touch skims the fur on his side. His muscles tense under your touch as your hand moves in circles over his sleek, dark brown coat. You would have stroked his flushed cheeks, but his face is too far out of reach.

Your eyes meet. He cannot find any hatred or fear. Your eyes are just a serene lake that his pitiful soul drowns in.

Only instead of dousing his fire, the water fuels it to burn even hotter.

"Forgive me."

He only manages to muster those words before picking you up by the waist with both of his powerful arms. Your chest presses into his, and now you at his eyes' level. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, his throat dry as he feels your damp skin on his.

When you tilt your head quizzically, your lips feel the warm brush of his thumb. He looks you straight in the eyes with a newfound resolute.

"May I?" His tone lifts, expressing a question. Or, perhaps, an attempt to seek for permission.

Instinctively, you nod and smile shyly. Jake responds by closing the gap between you and him. He presses his cool, dry lips into yours, memorizing your softness and warmth. The scratchy stubble on his face tickles you, making you giggle around his mouth.

Your reciprocation emboldens him. He begins sucking on your lips with enthusiasm, feeling your breathing become messy and your body squirming.

So lost in the passionate kiss, you do not realize he has brought you to a large rock near the stream. Centuries of wind and rain have filed the rock's face into a smooth surface. Whatever nooks left are filled with dark green moss that is cool and soft against your skin.

He pulls away, his lips lingering just above yours as he watches you catching your breath.

Jake carefully lowers himself and lets you lie comfortably on the boulder. He wastes no time before covering your lips with his once more, sending a rush of excitement through your body. The centaur's kisses grew more intense, coaxing you to part your lips for him. His calloused hands gently cradle your face as his warm, wet tongue slowly explores every crevice of your mouth.

His sudden hunger makes your thighs quiver, and you involuntarily let out a soft moan. Your keen voice rouses something deep within the centaur. He utters a quiet curse under his breath before parting from you.

"My heart." He whispers, loathing the language barrier between you more than ever.

The surge of joy and despair bubbling at the tips of your fingers as they rest on his chest. His raw emotions overwhelm you, making you recoil. The centaur falters, unable to ignore your wide-eyed stare and your withdrawn hand which you have brought close to your chest. Were it your intention or not, in his eyes, it appears as though he has frightened you.

At that moment, he looks… hurt.

Reaching out, you cup his face in your hand, trying to soothe him, and he returns your gesture by burying his nose in your palm, planting little kisses.

"No, I shall not defile you like this." He leans down, his breath warm against your ear as his eyelashes flutter. He sounds almost breathless. "I can't lay with you, not until I have the gods' blessing."

The warmth of his steadfast hands fades from your sides, leaving an empty feeling in their absence and a yearning you can't quite name.

The centaur stands up and gallops his way to the stream, submerging his head into the water in an awkward bend and showing you his back. You sit there, dumbfounded, staring at his round and firm backside, which you suddenly have the urge to slap.

He takes what feels like hours until the chill of the water helps him calm down.

After that, Jake acts like nothing happened for the rest of the day. He continues carrying you on his back, traveling the hillside path, straining his ears to for any signs of the humans, moving as fast as mortally possible to bring you back home.

His exterior appears calm and collected, and yet, the turmoil beneath his skin never fades.

#jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #centaur!jake x nymph!reader #cw: rpf #nat writes #fic: naiad #fics

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konigsblog · 1 year ago

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Any ideas for what Kidnapper!Price would be like? Love you’re work and style!!

tw; burning, yandere behaviour (obviously), mentions of pissing yourself (i swear i don't have a piss kink, but he likes humilating you 😞), mentions of weed if i missed some, message me;

kidnapper!price using sensory overstimulation, and it's so accurate. he can't get enough of that stupid drooling expression, unable to stop your saliva dripping from the ballgag stuffed inside your mouth, muffling your sounds and stiffling your cries.

he's horrible, truly. he'll shove a self-thrusting dildo in your slick pussy, thrusting itself in and out your sex and making you whine from the pleasure. you don't wanna cum, but you can't help the way your body reacts to the size inside you - unaware that's it's a replica of his meaty dick :(

yandere!price doesn't mind the way you sob, but when you begin trashing problems start. pinning you down and tying you up, stripping you of all your clothes and throwing cold water onto you, making you shiver and tremble as goosebumps form on your cold skin. he'll push you into uncomfortable positions, the sounds of a fan ringing in your ear, grinding your teeth together as you weep out of frustration.

you swear you hate him, you do. you don't like the way his tobacco filled breath smells, or the way his BO rubs against your skin. that your rear hurts when he spanks you for hurting him, bent over his desk as he ruins your skin, tinting it pink as he continues to slap your tight ass.

spits in your mouth or face when you refuse to kiss him. it's only fair, he treats you well, come sit on his big lap and kiss him all over :( “good girl, c'mere, doll..” he tuts when you don't listen, spoonfeeding you when you refuse food, slapping you across the face if you swear at him.

usually your punishment consists of either; locked away, sensory overstimulation, slapping and spanking, or a ballgag. he'll take humilating pictures of you and jerk off to them later, or only feeding you his salty and gross cum after you'd attempted to escape. even if you despise him and hate the way his semen tastes, you're left with no choice when he forces the pearly milky liquid into your mouth, running down your throat as you attempt not to gag.

he gets you high off weed. it started out with him giving you a few hits from his joint, begging for more quietly. you thought it would be a reward for being good, but when you greened out and he took more photos of your passed out body, you quickly realised he was using it for his own benefits.

yandere!price calls you his slave, his pet. you'll bow down before him if he tells you to do so, sucking his cock so nicely while he watches the tv, the sounds from the fireplace relaxing him. maybe he'll threaten to burn you. lighting your skin from his cigars, or giving you nosebleeds for not listening properly.

would probably make you piss yourself out of fear. and embarrass you for doing so. he doesn't care if you're crying and screaming, you better clean up your mess before he yells louder. (does he have a piss kink?)

#orla speaks #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere #captain price #john price #captain john price #captain johnathan price #cod price #price call of duty #price cod

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justeasing · 5 days ago

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Rare Pair Explanation: 💙Fremillette💙

When we first enter Fontaine, we are met with the rain, and with the rain came the explanation - and exclamation - of, "Hydro dragon, Hydro dragon, please don't cry!"

These words were first ever heard coming from between the hands of none other than Freminet.

Throughout the story of Fontaine, we learn that its waters house and transport the memories and emotions of its citizens straight into the heart and mind of their Dragon Sovereign to be. Neuvillette could feel the aching souls of his city's people, yet could never quite understand, for he - himself - is not human. He feels sorrow and grief just the same as anyone else, but he aches to be more familiar with his people and their struggles. Thus, he soaks into these feelings and pours them out in tears that bathe the land in torrents of rain.

He's a bleeding heart behind the facade of someone much, much colder.

Meanwhile, if you take the time to go through Freminet's story, you learn that he is almost the exact opposite. He's a boy from a broken background in which his mother was his everything. But when she is cruelly taken from him, and he is put under the "care" of the House of the Hearth, he is trained - and reinforces himself - to shut down all emotions. To become an automaton: expressionless and unfeeling. He is obedient and quiet and does as he is told while bowing his head and minding his business. Someone cries? He does not hear it. Someone screams? It's not his problem. He shuts down.

And yet, Freminet hides a key secret, which is how he will escape from time-to-time to sink into the depths of the sea... and cry.

He screams and laughs and weeps under the waves, the one place in which he finds comfort and solace and allows himself to break apart his unfeeling mold. The Fontaine ocean is the one place he feels life and excitement again! He joyfully explores under the water, becoming the city's most talked about diver - his fame carried on the whispers of his peers - and his fingers have felt every crevice, eyes seen every treasure, and mind filled with the wonder of the sea.

He is the ocean's master, fallen in love with the sea.

So, with both of these points in mind, whose emotions do you think Neuvillette has felt most clearly? Who do you think he knows most intimately at this point, if not the diver who has cried in his ocean's loving arms? If not the one who has been to the depths of his soul and touched against the sandy shores most have not even dared to brush against? Whose seen the darkest caverns of his aching soul and never once flinched away? ...Freminet.

I genuinely think that Neuvillette could have (has) fallen in love with this young diver from afar. I think - at this point - he can practically sense when Freminet sinks into his depths, and it's almost calming. Distracting. His work taking a sideline as he turns his eyes towards the stained glass windows and wonders, "For what purpose do you delve, today, darling?" Then becoming so flustered by his own addition of "darling".

I also think that Freminet - who is usually so shy and anxious around other people when first meeting them - would be almost instinctually comfortable if he ever met the Iudex face-to-face, which is... odd, considering most people would be rattled with fear or simply find his sheer presence and importance imposing! Shying away and apologizing for taking up his time. But not Freminet. Not the boy who's already fallen in love with his oceans, and the feeling of his caress in the waves.

In all honesty, I think Neuvillette would lose his composure around Freminet. I think he'd flush and fidget like a youngin' with a crush. That cane would be held under folded hands, and his thumb would run over the head over and over again until he realizes Freminet is staring at his fingers - and stop. Clear his throat. Introduce himself. But Fremi would already know him. The feeling of their hands would be the same as running his fingertips over the bones and sand and stone... He'd know him. He'd own him.

That is HIS sea. That is HIS glittering shore.

And both of them would understand, intrinsically, that they are meant to be. And when Freminet calls him, "My ocean," Neuvillette melts and whispers,

"Your sea."

#genshin impact #genshin #neuvillette #freminet #fremillette

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silver-tooth-the-panther · 8 months ago

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Some Ideas For A TADC

AU!

Now, I’ve had some ideas since I got into The Amazing Digital Circus, so I figured I should share them!

First off, I thought up of an OC! He’s a tall navy blue wolf plushie that has yellow slinkies (yes, the spring toys) for his neck, legs, and arms! His eyes are similar to Barnaby from Billie Bust Up, but instead of them being different shades of orange, they are different shades of purple. His name is Party Animal (his human name is Percy Atticus) and he’s a rather strange one at the circus. Party doesn’t seem to care about finding the exit…I wonder why…

Anyways! There another idea that I had as well. What happens to the memories and character traits that are removed from the humans when they go inside the digital world? Well, perhaps they are turned into whole other beings that get thrown to the depths of the digital world!

Here are the creatures known as The Identities!

Penny (Pomni): Penny is a black and white character who wears a white suit with a black suit vest. A soft bow tie takes the place of a normal tie and a spear’s blade takes the place of where the bell should be on her tail. She still has her signature jester hat, but it is black and white and bears no bells. Her eyes are as dark as tar and tiny white spirals replace her pupils. A bone is wielded in her hand at all times. Her and Bubble would get along well, since they have the same smile. She does seem to wear a mask that covers the rest of her face though…Personality wise, She’s sweet, but can be rather off putting, and is incredibly loyal. Just don’t let her horrific appearance fool you, she’s a sweet lad. She’s the official leader of this rag tag gang.

Annie (Ragatha): A weeping raggedy doll who has a serrated mouth and one loose button eye. Her functioning eye was ripped out, thus she is completely blind. Her dress is covered in rips and tears and her mitten hands are covered in black blood and have been turned into sharps claws. She cries most of the time, she carries the burdens of Ragatha’s past life. Luckily, Penny makes for great company (and a lovely girlfriend!)

File 1 (Jax): His real file name is 17384295, but his friends just shorten it down to 1. Since he is an NPC, File 1 is supposed to exist in the circus, but here he is! He’s mostly silent, but is very loyal to the Queen. File 1’s senses are incredibly heightened senses. This mixed in with his teleportation abilities makes him a lethal prankster! His body is a bulky, black mass with long arms and a head that resembles a rabbit. Red teeth and eyes glow on his face. If you miss them, you’ll never know he’s there…

File 2 (Gummigoo): File 258963 is his real name, but the gang shortens his name too. This creature is a melted mass that fused with machinery to keep his body as stable as it could be. File 2 is the most rational of the group and remembers every little detail. Even details that never existed…

Angel (Gangle): This mess of ribbons of broken masks is best described as unpredictable and shy. The only mask that isn’t broken is a pitch black one that has a strange eye to the left. She typically serves as the group’s security.

Zoey (Zooble): Oh where to begin on this mess. They’re quite literally in shambles! This creature is made from various parts of random beasts! A bear’s leg, a dragon’s tail, a donkey’s hoof, you name it all! They seem to be very depressed and tends to sleep than play.

Kevin (Kinger): A broken king chess piece with a makeshift mouth, spider legs, and veins connecting its hands and eyes to its body? What could possibly be creepy about this one? He’s incredibly stable and is typically the one you go to when you need a problem solved!

Tex (Party): Tex is a black furred, two-headed beast. One of his head bears no soul, so it limbs down and its eyes swing from side to side. His limbs are now made of jump rope and his claws are large enough to pierce the heart of any human. STAY AWAY FROM HIM! This creature is genuinely abusive and will try to steal your code to free itself from the depths. He was the one who blinded Annie and who overthrew Penny. Maybe…that’s all about to change…

That’s a wrap! I hope you enjoy this little idea! If you wanna leave any questions or requests for this AU, my ask box is always open!

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc pomni #tadc jax #tadc ragatha #tadc caine #tadc gangle #tadc kinger #tadc au #tadc zooble #tadc oc #tadc original character #ragapom #buttonblossom #jesterdoll

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cast-you-dxwn · 1 month ago

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“They shall be my dearest warriors, these mortals who give of themselves to me.”

“Blessed be the Lord, my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.”

The cold of the chambers marble floor bites through Emmanuel’s skin, chilling his knees to the bone. He does not move, his head remains bowed, eyes fixed upon the swirls of the floor upon which he kneels, upon the black bodysuit which encases him, unadorned save for his name stitched into the breast. The chill of the air is far from his mind, and the words cut through to his very soul.

The words of the Fabricators, their odd mechanical buzzing quality as they stand at his side, unmoving, the censers swinging in their right hands emitting a fog of sweet-smelling smoke, clasped in fingers that he cannot tell whether they are armored or made from steel themselves. The words of Saint Michael, standing before his kneeling form, his blade in his right hand, his left raised in supplication. He can feel the Seraphs gaze upon him. But he dares not raise his eye.

“They will be of iron will and steely muscle. In great armour shall I clad them and with the mightiest weapons will they be armed.”

“My goodness, and my fortress; my high tower, and my deliverer; my shield, and He in whom I trust; who subdueth my people under me.”

He is aware of the Fabricators at his side moving, turning, and as if by instinct he is compelled to stand, rising on unsteady feet. He spreads his feet, holds his arms to the side, but still, he does not raise his head. There is a mechanical whirring, and angelic steel encloses around his forearms, vambraces that shine in the guttering light of the torches that line the room. Yet more whispering of metal, his hands bound in gauntlets that seem weightless, yet carry the burden of ten thousand men.

“They will be untouched by plague or disease, no sickness will blight them. They will have tactics, strategies and machines such that no foe can best them in battle.”

“Lord, what is man, that thou takest knowledge of him? Or the son of man, that thou makest account of him? Man is like to vanity: his days are as a shadow that passeth away.”

Emmanuel is afraid. Why is he afraid?

Yet more steel is piled atop him. Pauldrons that latch to his shoulders, greaves and cuisses that clad his legs, a cuirass that encases his torso. It all fits perfectly, and he can feel the metal fingers of the Fabricators pressing over every inch, checking seals and connections even as status lights flash green, then fade into blue.

“They are my bulwark against the Terror.”

“Bow thy heavens, O Lord, and come down: touch the mountains, and they shall smoke. Cast forth lightning, and scatter them: shoot out thine arrows, and destroy them. Send thine hand from above; rid me, and deliver me out of great waters, from the hand of strange children; Whose mouth speaketh vanity, and their right hand is a right hand of falsehood.”

Will it be enough?

His eyes squeeze shut, his teeth dig into his bottom lip until he tastes both light and iron. He thinks of Claudia, weeping in his arms the day he’d received his orders. He thinks of Maria and Ximena, clinging to his legs as though they alone could weigh him down and keep him home. They had been so small when he had left. He remembers how his last thoughts had been of them, laying in the dust of that bombed out street in Fallujah, praying that he might just hold them one last time.

Lord, am I worthy?

“They are the Defenders of Creation.”

“That our sons may be as plants grown up in their youth; that our daughters may be as corner stones, polished after the similitude of a palace: That our garners may be full, affording all manner of store: that our sheep may bring forth thousands and ten thousands in our streets: That our oxen may be strong to labour; that there be no breaking of walls, nor going into captivity; that there be no cries in our streets.”

He can feel the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill down his cheeks even as his breath shudders from his lips. The things he has seen. The things he has done. What makes him fit to stand here, in the presence of Heavens Sword? What makes him worthy to wear this armor, where surely there stand a multitude of those more righteous?

“They are my Legionnaires.”

“Blessed is the people of whom this is true.”

How can a wretch like me enter Your service?

For a moment his vision darkens as the helm is slid over his head, and his breath catches as it seals, hissing with the rush of pressurization. Then his world bursts once more into light, his visor feeding information to his eyes almost faster than he can comprehend. His heart rate, blood pressure, the exact components of the incense that fills the air, the rustling of the Fabricators wings that had once been imperceptible, the shifting of the Trueborn Legionnaires that stand outside of the chamber.

A massive weight rests upon his shoulder. A hand. And it is only then that he dares to raise his head. He meets the silvered eyes of Saint Michael. They are hard, but not unkind. Understanding, yet carrying of great expectation.

Emmanuel feels the fear slowly melt from him, and though his breath shakes, though the tears finally cut their paths down his shaven cheeks, his jaws sets. His heart stills in its pounding.

“They shall know no fear.”

“Blessed is the people whose God is the Lord.”

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

#men of faith and weapons of war (the legions)

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burning-academia-if · 1 year ago

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1k Follower Celebration: ???'s short story

Word count: 4k

Summary: Snapshots from the life of a child who was never supposed to survive.

CW: lots of discussion around death, brief mention of animal death, violence, blood

A/N: Once more, sorry this is late! I hope you enjoy the final story!

Once, an infant died. In an old manor, secluded from the rest of the world, a mother couldn’t weep for a child lost. It was a miracle, really, it had lasted through the week. Torn and sickly from birth, the mother cradled its small body. Maybe a hospital might have saved them, had they been allowed such a grace.

There was nothing in her eyes. She stared, vacant, out towards the window. Her lips mouthed the words of a lullaby and her husband guarded the door. Knuckles white against the frame, he kept his head bowed and did his best not to weep. If he fell apart, then so would she.

Outside, shadows curled around the windows. It wasn’t like them, to be so curious. The sensation made memories come back in spades, a collection of what they once were. A death of a newborn, unnatural in more ways then they could grasp, attracted them under the moonlight.

‘Ask us,’ they sang, ‘And we’ll bring back the child.’

‘Save us and we’ll save them.’

Their voices crept forward, and the woman paused. Her grip tightened around the infant, fingers digging into the cloth. Her husband stepped forward, a warning on his lips. She ignored him and rose, stumbling towards the window. An invitation. They became a swarm.

“Don’t—!” Her husband’s voice was lost as the darkness in cased her. There were so many, but one took a step forward. A body with a vague human form, hands reaching out. She clutched tighter at the child still.

‘Return to us what we desire, and thus we will return back what you desire.’

“What…what do you want?”

‘Our memory. Our humanity. Our souls.’

It was taboo, for one to return a wraith to their original selves. But truly, playing by the rules had done nothing in their favor. They were both casted out and cursed, and their newborn child had paid the price. Even if the wraiths lied, it did not matter. She couldn’t imagine living, not any longer.

She held the child out. An offering for the first sin.

The shadows rushed forward, all at once. The woman cried out, ice running down her spine and spreading through her body. As weak as she was, she sank to her knees, vaguely aware of her husband’s arms wrapping around her. The windows rattled, the darkness became one, and her child cried once again.

They grew fast, both in size and understanding. Their father taught them reading, history, arithmetic. Their mother the sciences and magic theory. Neither her nor their father had magic in their veins, but their mother had said there were other ways to be able to use it.

It was the wraiths who taught them about life and death.

Although they were never supposed to go out at night, they snuck out often. They’d go past their parents’ garden and out towards the trees that laid beyond and call for them.

Every time, the wraiths would chastise them, ‘Never call for wraiths.’

‘What if they answer next time?’

‘They’ll hurt you, they’ll hurt you.’

And they would tilt their head and glance between their various forms, “But you’re all wraiths and you’d never hurt me.”

‘Not wraiths, ghosts! Ghosts.’

‘We are wraiths but we are special.’

‘Ghosts!’

The little ones, as small as them, would argue with the bigger ones. Then they’d grow bored and ask them to play and so they’d run through the woods until they were tired. Arms would wrap around them and when they opened their eyes next, they were in bed and sunlight poured through the window.

Those were peaceful days. Yes, they were trapped in a world very small, but there was comfort and friends and family. Days the same as a favorite blanket, the only place they would ever want to exist if they could make the choice again.

Time, however, can only ever press forward.

The first time they found a dead thing, they wept. It was a small bird, likely attacked by another, resting at the edge of the garden and the forest. They sank to their knees, hands shaking as it hovered over its small little body. It was hard to see anything, so blinded by their tears.

“Oh, little one, what’s wrong?” Their mother wiped her hands on her apron, coated heavily in dirt and grime.

“I found a bird. A dead bird.”

Their mother’s arms wrapped around them and they turned and buried themselves against her. She cuddled them close, tucking them under her chin, “It’s alright, dear. All living things will eventually die.”

“The wraiths say it’s the end for most things. And when it’s not, it’s…it’s…they’re wrong.” They tried to think of what they were told but the words were lost on them and they didn’t want to think, they wanted to cry. They thought they might cry forever, as they hiccupped over their words.

Their mother stroked her hands through their hair, long and past their shoulders now, “Yes, death is an ending. It does not mean we can’t honor them. Come, let’s bury it and wish it well onto the next life.”

As their mother gave them gloves and a place to bury the bird, they found themselves asking, “Why do some dead things stay and others vanish forever?”

“They’re not gone forever.” She placed the body in the ground, hands moving the dirt over to cover it. “They’re merely gone in a place we ourselves can’t reach.”

“But they’re gone forever from us…” Their voice wobbled, seconds away from tears again and their mother reached an arm out. They let themselves collapse into it, eyes squeezing shut as they took comfort in her.

She carefully took off her gloves, and ran a hand through their hair, “Not forever. Never forever.”

She let them stay there, in the midst of a garden. A child learning grief, and a mother only ever steeped in it.

The father paced in his room, the never-ending confinement and the stubborn march of time sinking into his arteries. The mother watched, perched on the edge of bed as though ready to flee at a moment’s notice. How long has it been since this place became the only thing they knew?

“We can’t let them know about the child.” He started, coming to a halt. “We’ll have to hide them.”

“But…” she hesitated, eyes downcast as she folded her hands in her lap. “This place bears the marks of my actions. Even if we hide the child, we can’t hide what we’ve done or what we’ve become.”

He turned his eyes towards her, a thickness in his throat, “How do you suppose this will end?”

“It was never going to end well.” She met his gaze. “It’s why I don’t regret the choice I’ve made.”

“I don’t either. Watching our child grow is the only thing that’s managed to keep me going. If they lay a on hand on—”

“I’ll kill them.” The mother raised to her feet. The light of the full moon spilled over her form, casting a glow to her hair. She looked more specter than woman. He knew she was serious, because he’d do the same. It’d been a promise from the beginning. Whatever life they had, had ceased to be theirs. It did not mean their child needed to live out the same fate.

He took a deep breath, “We have much to do in the coming days. For now, we’ll rest.”

They guided each other to bed, body folding over body. One racing heart wrapped around the other, easing it into tranquility. Sleep came, and washed away the unease for one more night.

“Wait Mira, where are we going?” It was strange, for any of the wraiths to be out during the day. Mira was the smallest one, something once a child and now forever doomed to be one. They were older than her now, a skip away from their tenth birthday tomorrow.

They’d been in the garden, though the winter laid many plants to rest. The sight of the wraith crouched by the tree had drawn their attention, and they’d got the feeling she’d wanted them to follow.

Now, they were farther into the woods then they had ever been. Their eyes skipped over the trees, breath puffing the air. In their ill-fitting clothes, the cold was biting into every part of their skin. The exertion was the only thing keeping it at bay.

“Mira—” They started again, and felt the whole fabric of the earth shift. A gasp fell through their throat, hand bracing hard against the trunk of a tree. Bark dug into calloused palms, the pain hardly registering. Something was wrong. It made their stomach turn to the point of nearly being sick.

With all their strength, they shoved themselves back to their feet. They spun, facing back to the place they called home. They needed to get back. Felt the desperation in their bones.

‘Sorry.’

‘We’re sorry.’

‘So so sorry.’

Wraiths rushed around their feet, emerging from the shadows casted by the branches. They clung to their legs and held onto their arms. Everything felt even colder, the world bleeding color into something gray.

“What…what are you doing?” Their limbs felt week. They weren’t sure when they came to be on the ground, but they felt the dirt and the twigs and frost press into their clothes, turning it damp.

A figure came to loom over them. One they’d come to know well, ‘You cannot go, little one.’

The world was gone, all at once.

When they woke up it was night and there were graves. The moon stared down at them, and shivers clawed into their body. It took all their strength to push themselves up, and when they did all the shadows scattered. Their breathe created a fine mist in the air in front of them, a constant thrum as they struggled to keep their breath even.

Despite the shakes, they called, “W-why? Why am I here, what did you do…?”

‘It was by your parents’ request.’ The largest shadow rose in front of them, and in the full moon light, they could almost see its face. Middle aged, dark eyes, a gaping wound of darkness in their side. The sight stilled even the chatter of their teeth. ‘There are things you don’t know about them, which they will never tell.’

They wrapped their arms around their body, as though such thins limbs cold protect them against the night’s chill, “Like how they never answer when I ask why we can’t leave the confines of these woods?”

‘Yes. It’s for your own protection.’ It motioned towards the place around them. ‘This is outside their confines. When you’re older and steadier, we could finally set you free. For now, this place is the only place you’d survive.’

“I…I could. Survive out there.” They had never met another living soul besides their parents. Now, their eyes searched past the graves and old wrought iron gates as though they could find a hint of life waiting for them somewhere. It was as dark and empty as ever.

‘Child, you weep for all things. There’s only a cruel world waiting beyond this cage. When I return you, you’ll understand everything I’ve told you about violence.’ A chill zipped down their spine, and this time not from the temperature.

“…What do you mean?”

‘You’ll see. Take hold, and I’ll lead you back home.’ And so they let it take their hand and lead them back through the trees.

They didn’t want to go through the doors, left open and creaking back and forth in the wind. There were no lights on inside, nor was there a sound. When they peered through the door, the house peered back. Wounded, cracked. The entrance they knew well was contaminated with the markings of intruders.

It was in the air. They could feel it on their skin, skittering across their veins. It wasn’t the same kind of feeling they felt from the wraiths, it was something different. New. Bitter. The shadow beside them waited, sensing their brief hesitation.

They took a deep breath and walked through the door. The feeling was stronger inside, choking their lungs. It made it impossible to call out, and so they stumbled forward. As long as they followed the trail, they’d be able to find their parents. Wherever the cursed path led.

While all the wraiths crowded at the door, the one remained by their side. With it, even with their sudden clumsiness, their movements didn’t make a sound. It felt like years of walking, longer than the trek through the woods, before they came upon the old study. Cracks shot through the wall around the door like lightening. It seeped color, a bright bright red. Bright enough to hurt their eyes.

Their companion shielded away, ‘This is as far as I can go.’

Despite their desire to ask, they couldn’t. So they swallowed the sick in their throat and stopped in front of the door. It hung, kept on by a single bolt. Even with the awkward angle they could see inside. The room was a mess, books scattered and torn and pages in various directions. They could just make out their parents’ form. They were covered in red.

Without a second thought, they ducked through the door, feet almost tripping over themselves as it landed on the pages. The light of the room was still on, flickering in it’s attempt to hold on. The red on their parents was not just blood but whatever the strange essence at the entrance was. It wrapped around them like webs, and they collapsed on their knees.

“M…mom? Dad…?” It hurt to talk, their hands hovered the two’s bodies, unsure what to do or where to touch.

Their mother groaned, her eyes fluttering open, “Oh…you’re not…supposed to be here.”

“What happened? Why is there…all this?” The word came a second later. Magic. “What can I do?”

Before they could do anything, their mother jerked away from them. Her hands dug into it and tore it away. It burned bright, searing at her hands as she did so. More blood spilled, running as free as a river as it cascaded from her body.

Her voice was stern, “Don’t touch me. This will only hurt you.”

“There must be something I can do—The first aid kit. I’ll bring it to you. I’ll be back, I promise.” They scrambled to their feet, still off kilter and ran out. They heard their mother call their name but it was so far from them. They just needed the first aid kit, they needed to help. They needed to not think about their father not waking up.

It took too long to get everything and to make it back. When they returned their mother was tearing the magic netting off their father. Tears wet her face, the pain obvious in each of her movements, but it didn’t stop her. Each red thread dissolved to nothing as it was taken off his skin.

They placed everything on the floor, desperate to help but deterred by the harsh look their mother sent their way, “Thank you, dear. Now there is one more thing I need you to do for me. In our room, tucked away in one of the floorboards, is a box. The wraiths will show you were. Inside there, is your gift.”

“My gift, but—”

“It’s after midnight, is it not? This is both for your birthday and your protection. Now go.” Protection from what? They wanted to know what had happened and if it was for the same reason they were trapped here. They wanted to know if their father was still alive. They wanted to know why they could cry whenever they stumbled upon a dead animal, but didn’t feel even moisture in their eyes at the sight of their parents.

Their eyebrows pinched together and they stared at her, “Mom…”

“I’ll tell you everything, I promise. For now, will you do this for me?” They nodded, numb, and her lips twitched into a smile. “Thank you. I’m sorry for all of this. I thought we’d have more time.”

They rose, head still spinning. Worse than before. Every moment that passed made them worse. They were sure their mother, so steeped in it all for so much longer, must be suffering. But if there was nothing they could do, then they could only do what she asked.

The wraith was waiting for them this time, as though sensing their mother’s words. It pulled them forward, the only thing keeping them upright now. The two ascended the flight of stairs and here they could see endless damage. Doors open, furniture tossed. Whoever had been here had been looking for something. What if they’d found whatever their mother had told them about?

‘Focus.’ The wraith instructed and they did. They made their way down the hall and into their parents’ room. It was the worst place of all. The indoor plants, the paintings on the walls, the mattress on the bed. Everything in pieces.

There were marks here too, although they didn’t glow with red light as the ones from downstairs. They stepped over shattered glass and broken bits, following the wraith as it indicated a spot on the ground.

‘Careful.’ It whispered, as they dug their hands between the cracks. Even with all the strength slipping away from them, they used their whole weight to pry it up. It stuck and they pulled, and the wooden splinters bit into their skin. The pain rushed to their brain and cleared the dam.

Tears fell. It burned out and blurred the world around them. Still, they kept going, until the floorboard finally heaved. Until their raw hands were pulling out a box. It was a deep blue, trimmed with silver. The latch glittered at them in low light, scattered further by how they cried.

It took a moment to fumble at the latch to get it open. When they did, it was a sudden light. So bright it hurt their eyes. Despite its blinding radiance, the wraith did not shield away. It stayed by them as it poured out. Burrowed into their skin and wrapped around their heart.

It stopped. All of it stopped.

Their father had always called them a bleeding heart. They weren’t sure if it was true. Sometimes, they were drowning in emotions, unable to claw their way out. Other times, they felt like it all burned away.

In every memory they held, was warmth. But the older they got, the more the questions spilled forth. They asked about everything, and when their parents refused to answer they went to the wraiths. Sometimes even they held their tongue. It made the reflection warp. What had they missed, in the cage of their childhood? And would knowing have changed anything at all?

The years after the attack shifted everything. The wraiths vanished without a trace. Their mother had dropped all kindness.

“You need to survive.” She’d said. “Even if it’s without us.”

Once, they’d snuck out on a summer night. There was only one thing they wanted, and it was to find the graveyard the wraiths had taken them to the night everything changed. Despite their best efforts, they never found it. All they succeeded in was knowing the woods better than even the animals.

The bigger they got, the smaller the world felt. In instances they’d usually accept their mother’s answers, they’d push back. They needed to know everything in the world. If they did, then maybe they could find a way to free all of them.

“Why can’t you leave?” They asked once, letting their mother braid their long hair. It was one of the few displays of love left in her.

Her fingers carefully threaded the braid together, “It’s because of the same magic that nearly killed us. It binds us here, and they hoped it would cause us to die. From starvation or dehydration or illness.”

“It doesn’t bind me though, does it?” Their eyes traced the scars on the walls. The damage from the house could never fully be repaired. “I could leave, and find a way to free you both—”

They felt her tension, the involuntary clenching of her hands. It did not hurt but it made them flinch, “They would kill you. When you finally leave, you are never to come back.”

It was an impossible idea. To let their parents go. They were the start and ending of their world. A fear wormed its way into their brain and made residence there. They would lay awake in bed, listening for anything wrong, wondering if tonight was the night the intruders would come back and finish the job.

If they did, they would have to be ready.

But there was no magic in them, they were just a child. They’d take a spare knife and practice throwing. Once, when their aim was nonexistent, it caught the wing of a stray bird. It squawked and fell and they rushed forward as a ringing echoed in their ear.

They collapsed over it, cradling it in their hands, forgetting their mother’s warning of disease.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they sobbed, cradling it to their chest. When they saw blood, they saw their parents. When they thought of violence, it made them sick. How would they ever protect anything, when all it did was make them ill?

Their mother had found them, later. The bird was content in their hands, despite its own blood marring them. She brushed a hand through their hair, and they stirred from an endless half sleep.

“You are too kind for such violence.” She whispered, and it was the first time they had ever seen her close to tears.

As they shifted, the bird hopped away and they looked at their hands, stained with its blood. They thought they might be sick. They thought they’d cry again.

Instead, they swallowed it all back, “This violence is born from my kindness.”

Their mother threw her hands around them, and squeezed them in a tight hug. For a moment, they were suspended. She did not cry, and neither did they. Instead, they sat there in the fading light. A mother forced to be cursed with her doom, and a child whose path only led to such an ending.

It was always going to be a futile fight. Even still, they fought it. Even as their parents’ bodies hit the ground. Even as hands grabbed them, hard enough to bruise. They fought and screamed, and the wraiths answered.

The intruders yelled, and they wrenched themselves away. They weren’t sure where they were going as they ran. Into the woods, as they always did. To a place where they would never be found. Their feet hit the ground hard, lungs burning, and an endless panic coursing through them.

If they finally made it past the woods then—

A pain chocked them. They felt themselves collapse, staring down at their body. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red—

“Got ‘em.” A voice called.

“Jesus, did you really have to do that to a kid?”

“It’s fine. It’s not like anyone knew the bastards had a kid anyway, right? What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

The intruders’ footsteps crunched in the snow. They'd been left to die. As their eyes squeezed shut, trying to drown out the pain, they wondered. Would they become a wraith? Would their parents? Or would they simply move on to whatever was waiting for them in the unknown? Their thoughts echoed.

The snow wasn’t cold. Their body wasn’t warm. It hung, suspended, outside of time itself. Their mind was a blur of white and shadows. A voice sung a lullaby somewhere, far away from their reach. They were alone. Suddenly and violently alone. A fragment of a forgotten memory now, instead of a real person. Arms sank under their body and lifted them up.

“It’s time to rest, now.”

They felt their consciousness slip away to nothing.

#ch: ???#1k follower celebration #BA: bonus content #I thought this would end up being significantly shorter then Rook's because ??? has a million times more spoilers but uh no it's still long #hence the lateness

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