#took me longer than expected to narrow down my choices

[giveemhales]

🦇 My 30 Favorite Batfam Fics of 2024 🦇

I’m continuing my annual tradition of sharing some of my favorite fics that came out in the past year (you can see last year’s list here). This is just a way for me to show my love and appreciation for the many amazing artists/writers who keep the fandom alive. If you read any of these fics, please make sure to leave some kudos and comments! And there are so many amazing fics I wasn’t able to include, so I encourage you to show some appreciation to your own favorites!

Please be sure to read all tags and warnings. I’ve provided warnings for the darkest fics.

All of these fics were completed in 2024. I only do one fic per author, but definitely check out all of these authors’ other works. Also, most of these feature tim, because he is my favorite. Now, without further ado…

Sparkles by @iselsis (2k, jason & bruce, fluff, a/b/o dynamics, batman finds an omega kid covered in cuddle pollen and going into heat)

until the bounds of death have been unwound by @vinelark (2.9k, tim & jason, fantasy and angst with a hopeful ending, tim is a demigod and he goes to save jason from the underworld) (the sequel is also great!)

Sacrificial Lamb by @kgraces (3.3k, tim & bruce, angst with a happy ending, bruce makes a deal with the devil to trade tim’s life for jason’s, his kids later find out) (this fic messed me up, i actually think about it all the time)

wouldn’t wish it by @green-eyedfirework (3.3k, jason & damian & tim, whump/angst with a hopeful ending, talia calls jason to save his brothers from the league of assassins) *READ THE TAGS

Lucky Number Three by @sohotthateveryonedied (3.4k, tim & bruce, angst and hurt/comfort, bruce has to deal with the consequences of his actions while he was under the influence of truth serum) (won’t make much sense unless you read this fic which honestly destroyed me)

Anything by @byrambles (3.5k, dick-centric, angst with a happy ending, bruce tells dick he wants to adopt his siblings, dick assumes this does not mean him)

possess by @envysparkler (4.6k, bruce-centric, angst with a happy ending, bruce is possessed by a demon that want, fortunately jason has magic swords)

The Guilt Never Really Left, You Know by @neuro-psyche (4.9k, dick & jason, angst with a happy ending, nightwing saves and then confronts red hood) *READ THE TAGS

Sacrifice by @onemuseleft (5.4k, bruce & his kids, light angst with a happy ending, the justice league is successfully negotiating with alien invaders until they request the sacrifice of one of Batman’s children)

you’ll be alright [or else] by @call-me-quill (5.9k, tim & jason, angst with a happy ending, tim takes a bullet meant for jason and doesn’t understand why jason is so upset)

the bed and breakfast by @adelfie (6.2k, dick-centric, fluff and angst with a happy ending, dick is stranded at a b&b during blizzard, things seem fine until he realizes he’s being held hostage)

with the exception of… by @dss1101 (6.4k, tim-centric, hurt/comfort, everyone realizes tim had a very different experience with his batman than all the other kids)

How to be a Little Brother by @die-erlkonigin6083 (7.4k, damian-centric, fluff and light angst, damian tries to learn how to be a good younger brother)

Reply ‘STOP’ to Unsubscribe by @motleyfam & @batmoniker (8.4k, jason & tim, angst with a happy ending, tim imagines his dad when he’s hit with fear gas at school) (this will probably make more sense if you read the rest of the series first, but I don’t think is strictly necessary (but you should read the series anyway bc it’s great))

Of A Genius’ Legacy by @sparkoflena (8.5k, tim-centric, fluff, tim graduates high school, a lot more people than he expected show up)

Flatline by @dragonpyre (8.9k, jason-centric, angst with a happy ending, jason is injected with a drug that basically shuts down his body, he has to watch his family’s reactions to finding his “dead” body)

Our Dead Drink the Sea by @ghost-bxrd (9.2k, jason-centric, angst with a happy ending, jason is a selkie and bruce kept his pelt when he died, the red hood takes the pelt and the batfam want it back)

In The Back Room by WhumpKing223 (9.9k, dick & jason & tim, heavy angst with a hopeful ending, batman discovers black mask is holding three boys captive, bruce wayne decides to take them in) (the rest of the series is about the boys’ time with bruce and it is great) *READ THE TAGS

Boom, Boom, Pow! by LilaVaporizer9000 (11.1k, tim-centric, absolute hilarity, kid tim steals the batmobile and wreaks havoc/ saves the day)

how to feed your local demon by @inkpotsprite (14.5k, tim & dick & bruce, fluff and humor and light angst, dick is an incubus and isn’t doing well after jason’s death, tim shows up to help)

the fire under your feet by @phneltwrites (17.8k, tim & jason & damian, angst with a happy ending, tim shows up to the league of assassins while jason is still there, they must team up to save damian from ra’s)

Perfect Storm by @banditywrites (25.1k, tim-centric, angst with a happy ending, tim is winning the game of not needing anything from his parents, but it starts getting harder and his neighbors are concerned)

you’re not defenseless, i’ll be your shelter by @fandomtrash-whataboutit (26.3k, tim-centric, angst with a hopeful ending, tim is lex luthor’s captive and is in charge of watching over the new captives- young justice) (the only batfam relationship in this is tim & dick, but the rest of the series has more batfam plus timkon and is so good)

Brother of the Fucking Year by @aceofdivinechlorophyll (26.4k, jason-centric, fluff and crack, jason makes plans to chaotically meet and bond with his siblings… as red hood) (will probably make more sense if you read the first part of the series first, which is also funny and great)

Join the Club by @cephalog0d (26.9k, jason & tim & dick, fluff and humor and light angst, where tim and jason meet at school, tim is dick’s biggest fan, and jason thinks it would be funny to make them meet) (this was filled for me for FTH but I would have included this fic regardless, it’s great)

What Christmas Means To Me by @taralaurel (29.9k, tim & dick & jason & bruce, fluff and angst, tim meets bruce when he is dressed as santa and asks for his parents to be home for Christmas, the batfam takes this as a challenge)

Screaming In The Dark (While We All Play Our Part) by @yourwakingnightmares (32.9k, dick & jason & tim & damian, heavy angst with a hopeful ending, the batboys are captives of a very evil batman, they escape and go to the justice league for help) (I also rec the sequel, which is ongoing and great) *READ THE TAGS

The Right Substitution is Key by @addictedapple (34.4k, jason-centric, fluff and crack and light angst, nightwing and batman go missing, robin asks red hood to fill in as batman)

the loneliness in worth by @yeeyee123 (56.1k, tim & damian, angst with a happy ending and humor, tim is supposed to be training in paris, he instead ends up with the league of assassins and decides he’s gonna help damian get to his father)

Northern Attitude (I Was Raised on Little Light) by @theskeptileptic (103.2k, tim-centric, heavy angst with a happy ending, tim is bruce’s biological son, jack drake has been punishing him his whole life for this, the batfam just want tim in their life) (technically not finished, but I didn’t put it in the WIP section as there is only one chapter left and it’s honestly at a satisfying stopping point) *READ THE TAGS, there is graphic child abuse

+5 WIPs I’d love to see more of in 2025!

[Refuge] by @raberbagirl (7.6k, tim & jason & dick, mostly fluff, the boys take refuge from the streets in the abandoned and supposedly haunted Wayne manor, the spirit of the manor is just happy to care for the kids)

a cuckoo in the nest by @antebunny (9.4k, tim-centric, angst and fluff, bruce makes a deal with the fae to get jason back, he has to take tim in in return, tim just wants to be loved)

Mine by @millytsworld (18k, jason & dick, angst with a happy ending, dick is the right hand man to an infamous mob boss (bruce) and decides jason is his new little brother, jason completely misunderstands dick’s intentions) *READ THE TAGS

Losing Time by hatlessmule (40.3k, tim-centric, angst (hopefully with a happy ending), tim finds himself in a universe where he doesn’t exist, the batfam want to know who this flighty kid is)

Care and Keeping and Kryptonite by @mild-and-hammered (96.9k, superbat ft. the bat kids, fluff and light angst, mild-mannered reporter clark is injured and has to stay with playboy bruce wayne and neither know the other’s secret identity, meanwhile bruce’s kids start meddling to bring the two closer together)

[brunchable]

UNDER HIS COMMAND [R 18+]

Steve Rogers × Agent!FReader

Words: 6.2K Warming: Age Gap (reader in early 20s), unprotected piv sex, domineering acts. oral (both receiving), dirty talk, praising. Summary: You drove Steve to his utmost limit, but what is it going to take to get him to calm down? A/N: I rewatched the old Marvel movies and have been feeling feral towards coughCAPT'Ncough. Bon appetitties?

The mission had gone sideways in a way that left Steve Rogers simmering with frustration. He could feel the anger bubbling up inside him, a foreign sensation that made his chest tight and his thoughts cloudy. You had gone against his direct orders, putting yourself in danger—again—and it had pushed Steve to his breaking point.

As you stood in your private cabin, both your voices echoing off the walls, Steve couldn’t hold back any longer.

“You had no right to do that, Y/N!” Steve’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharper and louder than you’d ever heard it.

Your eyes flashed with defiance as you fought back with all your frustration. "I made that call because it was the right thing to do! I was not going to allow those people to die just because you were excessively consumed with following the agenda!

Steve’s fists clenched at his sides, his muscles taut with barely restrained anger. “This isn’t about saving lives—it’s about you ignoring direct orders! You put yourself in danger, and you compromised the entire mission! You can’t just act on impulse and expect everything to work out!”

As he felt feelings he wasn't accustomed to expressing, his normally composed demeanor began to crumble under the strain of mounting aggravation. It frightened him that he could feel his grip weakening. He had never been so furious with you before; the level of intensity was nearly too much to bear.

You stepped closer, refusing to back down. “I thought about it! I knew exactly what I was doing, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat! You’re the one who doesn’t get it! You’re so obsessed with being in control that you can’t stand it when someone else makes a decision!”

“This isn’t about control, Y/N! This is about you thinking you know better than everyone else! You think you’re invincible, but you’re not! One day, your recklessness is going to get you in serious trouble and then what? How are we supposed to deal with that?” Steve’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as the anger threatened to spill over. 

Your eyes narrowed, your voice rising in anger matching his. “You’re the one who’s supposed to trust me! But you don’t! You can’t stand it when things don’t go according to your plan, so you lash out at me like I’m some kind of liability!”

Steve took a step closer, the space between you charged with tension. “I trust you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit back and watch you throw yourself into danger without a second thought! You didn’t see how close you came, Y/N. You didn’t see what I saw!”

“What you saw?” you shot back, your voice shaking with emotion. “You’re always trying to shield me from things, Steve, but you can’t keep doing that! I’m not a child! I’m your partner, and that means you have to let me make my own choices, even if they scare you!”

As Steve struggled to control the flood of emotions that were about to overflow, his breaths came in short, quick bursts and his palms quivered. 

“You think I’m trying to control you? I’m trying to keep you alive! I’m trying to make sure that you come back, every single time! But you… you don’t think about what that does to me.”

“And what about what it does to me? Every time you go off on some mission, every time you put yourself in danger without thinking about the consequences, do you know what that does to me? Do you?”

Steve’s face twisted with frustration, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “I do know. I know because I feel it too, every time you do something reckless, every time you make a decision that could get you. . .” He couldn’t  say the word, “And it terrifies me, Y/N. It terrifies me because one day, I might not be there to save you.”

Even though he looks angry, worry is visible in his eyes. You tightened your jaw because you were at a loss for words to respond to him.

Steve pivoted and stomped out of the room before you had a chance to reply. He had to escape for a moment to collect himself before he spoke a word he would regret. Heading directly for the woodpile, he stepped outside, his breath coming in quick, angry bursts.

By the time you caught up with him, Steve was already there, his jacket discarded on the ground. He grabbed the axe with a force that sent a jolt of pain through his arm, but he welcomed it. He needed to feel something physical, something tangible to anchor him in the midst of the storm raging inside him.

Without hesitation, he began chopping. The axe came down with a powerful swing, the wood splitting cleanly in half. But it wasn’t enough. The anger was still there, burning hot and fierce in his chest, so he swung again. And again. And again.

These pent-up emotions had been growing for weeks, if not months, and it was evident in every swing. The fear that he would lose you, the frustration that you didn’t seem to understand how much he cared, how much it hurt to see you risking your life time and time again. He was feeling helpless and that his only option was to keep chopping, to redirect his wrath onto something that wouldn't harm you or ruin everything both had built together.

Steve reached for yet another thick log, this one feeling rock-solid and unmoveable. None of that mattered. His muscles tensed as he lifted the axe above his head, and he lowered it with such power that the wood splintered. Although he felt the hit all over, it failed to provide him with the relief he had hoped for. He was being torn apart by the rage that remained dormant, just below the surface.

“So this is it? You’re just going to chop wood until the problem disappears?” Amidst the steady clack of the axe on wood, your irritated, sharp voice sliced through the air.

Steve didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The overwhelming wave of feelings he couldn't articulate washed over him, leaving him unable to speak. He swung the axe again, harder this time, as if he could somehow chop away everything he felt.

But then, a switch went off in his brain. That axe wasn't cutting it. He needed more—he needed to break something with his own hands, to feel the physical release of the anger that was consuming him.

He snatched up yet another log, this one heavier and thicker than the rest. His hands, still trembling with fury, gripped the log tightly. His muscles bulged as he poured all his anger, all his frustration, into his grip.

“Steve, talk to me! You can’t just—”

But before you could finish, Steve let out a low, guttural roar and pulled at the log with all his might. The wood resisted at first, but Steve was relentless. His biceps strained, his veins standing out against his skin, and with a deafening crack, the log gave way. He tore it in half with his bare hands, the wood splintering under the sheer force of his strength.

The pieces fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the sound almost drowned out by the ringing in your ears. You stood there, frozen, your breath caught in your throat as you watched Steve’s display of raw power. It was terrifying—seeing him so close to the edge, so consumed by anger—but it was also something else, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You were genuinely scared by his actions just now. The shock that he could lose control, that he could be so driven by his feelings, was a stark reminder of how much he cared, how deeply he felt. But alongside that shock was a rush of something primal, something that made your pulse quicken and your cheeks flush.

You shouldn’t have found it attractive—this display of strength—but you did. Seeing Steve like this, so powerful, so intense—he never bragged about his power, and it stirred something inside you that you couldn’t deny. Your body reacts before your mind could catch up, a rush of heat flooding your senses.

Steve turned to face you, his chest still heaving, his eyes blazing. “What do you want me to say, Y/N?” His voice was rough, almost broken. “That I’m okay with you going off on your own and putting yourself so close to death? Because I’m not!”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. You could see the chaos in his eyes. It made your heart ache. To him it didn’t matter if you were one of the best agents out there because he knew how life is so fragile, he knew because he's been around for ages—you forget that sometimes his cellular age is not twenty-seven.

For now, both of you stood there, the tension thick and suffocating, wrapping around you like an iron vice.

You took a shaky breath, the sound of it almost deafening in the quiet that had fallen between you. You knew you should say something, anything, to defuse the situation. But your throat felt tight, and the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to reconcile the man you love with the fury that had just been unleashed.

Steve’s chest heaved with each breath, his fists still clenched at his sides. He didn't know how to come down from the brink he'd been driven to, didn’t know how to deal with the mix of relief and frustration that you were standing in front of him, unharmed but defiant. 

His mind raced with the images of what could have happened, what might have happened if he hadn’t been there to pull you out of the fire. The thought was enough to make his vision blur with a fresh wave of anger and fear.

“I can’t lose you, Y/N,” Steve finally managed to say, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Do you understand that? I can’t. I don’t know what I’d do if something happens to you.” 

Your breath hitched, your heart hurt at the openness in his voice, and the urgent plea cut through your barriers. You knew how much he cared—how deeply he felt everything—but hearing it, seeing it in the way his hands shook, in the way his eyes were filled with unshed tears, made it impossible to stay mad.

Driven by a surge of emotion you couldn't contain, you briskly walked towards him. Steve kept his gaze glued onto you, anticipating your next move. In an instant, you closed the distance between you, your body moving on instinct alone. 

You leaped up, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist, your hands fisting in his hair as you pulled him down into a kiss that was searing, desperate, and filled with every ounce of the fire that had fueled the argument.

His kiss was intoxicating. You pressed yourself against him, your body molding to his as you deepened the kiss, your mouth moving against his lips with a fervor.

You could feel the tension in his muscles, the heat radiating from his skin, and it only made you want him more, made you kiss him harder, as if you could imprint yourself on him, claim him in a way that left no room for doubt.

Steve's grip on you was bruising as his hands found your hips, pulling you even closer, his own body responding to the intensity of the moment. He angled his head, deepening the kiss further, your tongues clashing in a dance that was as much about dominance as it was about the overwhelming need to feel connected.

You let out a soft moan, the sound vibrating between you, spurring you both on. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you couldn't get enough. You shifted against him, your hips pressing into his, feeling the undeniable evidence of his desire for you, and it sent a jolt of heat through your entire body.

When you finally broke apart, it wasn't because you wanted to, but because you both had to breathe. Your foreheads rested against each other, your breaths mingling, both of them trembling from the force of what had just happened. 

Your breathing was ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked into Steve's eyes, blue like the ocean but filled with fire. The air between you crackled with an electric tension, the heat of your shared desire still burning hot.

“I’m still mad at you. Chopping wood was not enough,” Steve whispered his voice rough, “I hope you're prepared for that.”

“Try me.” You replied breathily against his lips. 

Steve didn't need any more encouragement.

When he reached the back-door, he didn’t hesitate. With a powerful kick, he busted it open, the door slamming against the wall with a force that echoed through the room and shook walls.

Steve's hands gripped you firmly as he turned, pinning you against the nearest wall, his body pressing onto yours, the solid weight of him making you gasp. His mouth found yours again, and the kiss, filled with intensity that left you both dizzy, desperate for more.

You could feel the way his body responded to your every touch, every kiss. Your hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the hard muscle, needing to hold on, to anchor yourself against the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

Steve's grip on you tightened, his hands sliding from your hips to your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer. He pressed his lips to the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin, making you shiver. The sensation sent a wave of heat rushing through you, igniting every nerve in your body.

“Y/N…” Steve's voice was low, a rough whisper that sent a thrill down your spine. You could feel the restrained tension in him, the way his body was coiled like a spring, ready to snap. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

Shit. He swore. Now you know you're in deep trouble—and it excites you. You tightened your legs around his waist, leaning into him as you captured his lips once more, this time with even more intensity, more urgency.

Steve responded immediately, his mouth moving against yours in a kiss that was possessive. His hands roamed over your back, his touch firm, grounding you as you lost yourself in the taste of him. His touch ignited a trail of fire everywhere.

He pushes the hem of your shirt above your head and pulls off your black tee shirt, tossing it aside like it was nothing, exposing your bare breast, then his mouth devours you. He suckles and licks urgently, opening his mouth wider to envelop nearly your whole breast. It’s as if he wants to taste every inch of your skin all at once.

You moaned and arched your back, which thrusts your breast against his face, causing your fleshy mound to squeeze against him and bulge out at the sides. 

His hand, rugged and calloused from years of relentless work, moved with purposeful intent to the other. He gripped your breast firmly and began to knead, applying a rough pressure on your flesh.

You squeeze his shoulders, grasping at the starched cotton of his shirt. It feels manly under your palms. Your mouth drops open when the shape of his hard cock lines up perfectly against you, applying a delicious pressure you desperately need. 

“Oh my—Steve. . .”

Any self-preservation you've been holding on to evaporates at the feel of his hot length, and your hips tilt into him on their own. 

You groan simultaneously at the much-needed friction. His scent, his rough groans, the tight hold of his large hands, the stab of his hot tongue—everything about Steve is strong, hard, domineering, and so deliciously male. 

His mouth leaves your breast whispering into your ear, “Are you going to disobey me again?”

“I can't promise you that I won't.” You try to pull back and drop your legs, but he grips your thighs, holding them open, and presses his bulging cock onto you.

He loved the way you looked, the way you reacted, and he loved everything about you. You were the most precious thing in the world to him. So beautiful, so sweet, so giving and too damn good for him, but he was a selfish bastard and wouldn’t let you go.

Ever.

His breath fans over your neck, and he whispers dangerously. “That so?”

You didn’t notice how you both ended up in the bedroom until he shoved you toward the bed, because you found yourself falling onto it, the descent feeling agonizingly slow.

Your head turned sideways just as it was about to collide with the mattress, but you were too shocked to react, too numb to fight back against what was unfolding.

Steve moved with a swift, commanding presence, leaping onto the bed and straddling your torso with an authority that pinned you down. His shirt was already on the floor when you met his eyes—dark, angry. A side of him you're seeing for the first time in the bedroom.

His muscles are swollen from chopping all that wood and splitting one in half with his hands. His abs were a testament to the discipline and strength he had cultivated over the years. The six-pack was not just defined but chiseled, each muscle distinct and firm beneath the taut skin. 

He pushed your thigh open with his knee, his palm grazing from your stomach, between the valleys of your breasts, stopping at where your collar bone meets the base of your neck. 

All of your focus is on its path, and you quiver when his thumb now brushes the bottom curve of your breast. 

“This is mine.” He twists your nipple, sending shards of electricity tumbling through you, and you buck against him, lust completely taking over all your senses. 

“Yes,” You gasp and roll your hips, willing to say anything he wants to get him to continue touching you, searching for the right position to hit your clit with the head of his cock, desperate for more.

His chuckles tickle the sensitive shell of your ear, and a shiver runs through you as the sharp ridges of his teeth gently close on the soft earlobe. “Such a good girl all of a sudden?”

He drags his hand down your body, exploring it like he’s mapping every inch of you by touch alone. He forces your jeans off, almost ripping it in the process.

His thumb grazes your clit through your underwear, and a pained cry escapes your lips. He craves knowing the sounds you'll make as he drives his cock hard inside you. He'd make you beg for more until you scream out his name as he sear himself into your soul.

“Do you know what good girls get, Y/N?” He slides under the thin fabric and circles the spot you need him the most. “Good girls get to come.” 

“Please,” you beg. Every molecule of your being is focused on his fingers. The weight of the air around you compresses until it’s hard to suck in your next breath. Tension radiates as you wait for what happens next. His touch is the only thing that matters.

He shifts you so he can reach lower, sliding wet fingers through your slit, then circling your entrance. You whimper his name as he sinks two fingers inside you. 

“Look at you, soaked for me. Ready. This pussy knows she’s mine.” His voice is a dark rumble as he pumps his fingers in and out in a slow, torturous rhythm.

“I need more,” you grind out through your teeth.

“Take it. Fuck my fingers,” he orders you against your ear and loosens his hold to allow you to take control. 

You wrap your arm around his neck, leveraging yourself, and grip his hair as you work yourself on his fingers. 

Steve’s breath comes out in hot pants against your jaw, and he bites down on the edge at the same time his palm massages your clit. You forget to breathe as you rock against him, your head buzzing with the lack of oxygen.

“Oh yes, right there.” You gasped.

“That’s my pretty little pussy, fucking herself so well.” He adds another finger, and your world goes blank. All that’s left are his commands. “Come for me.”

Tingles shoot up your spine as your entire body pulls tight, and then your orgasm crashes over you in shuddering waves. “Steve.”

He pumps every last ounce of your release, his hands glistening. “That’s it. Say my name.” 

“Steve,” You say, barely a whisper.

He withdraws his finger then and lifts his hand to your face, pressing his finger against your lips. It’s the same finger that was just inside you. 

“Suck it,” he orders, and you obediently open your mouth, sucking the finger in. You can taste yourself, your own desire, and it makes you even more turned on. 

When he’s satisfied that the fingers are clean, he removes it from your mouth, grasping your chin with his hand instead, forcing you to meet his gaze, “I'm going to ask you again, are you going to disobey me?” 

You stare up at him, mesmerized by the dark blue striations in his irises. Your body is throbbing with need, desperately craving his possession. You want him to take you, to fill the aching emptiness within.

A smile of defiance crept on your lips as you cocked your head forward, “My answer remains that same.” 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N.” he warns, voice low, and a tremble runs through you. 

Your instincts are on high alert, but you don’t try to pull away. You swallow hard. “What game?” 

“The one where you act like all has been put aside. That you don’t already know who you pissed off. Or do you need a reminder?” He shifts his grip and circles your neck with his fingers, resting them on your collarbone as a warning. 

Heat pours into your core, and your clit throbs. A low moan escapes you, and his smile turns dark. He pushes closer, bent so his breath fans against your mouth. 

“I’m going to spin you around and fuck your pretty pussy against this bed, I think it’s fair I take out my frustrations on you. I will make you beg so hard, because baby, I can do this all fucking day.” He said with grit. 

Your ears ring, and all your thoughts vanish with his words. You push yourself up, closing the distance between your mouths. He groans deep and takes over the kiss, running his tongue against yours until you're consumed by him. Your head feels light from the lack of oxygen, but you don’t pull away, letting him do whatever he wants to you.

There’s a power that surges inside you, giving in to his control. No matter his threats, you know if you told him to stop, he would. 

He’s not gentle when he flips you on your stomach. His hands fisted at your hips and you heard a snap as he tore your panties away. The abrupt sound and the violent action behind it spurred your desire to a fever pitch. 

You hear him unzip his jeans, and in your attempt to look, he presses your head hard into the mattress. Then, you feel him pulling while he collects all of your hair and wraps it around his hand with the intention of using it as a rein. 

You let out a whimper when Steve tugged harder. You don’t hesitate to move when his foot meets yours and spreads your legs further apart. He grunts in approval and runs his fingers up your slit, before his erection brushed between your legs as he moved and you whimpered, so aching and empty, as if the orgasms he’d given you earlier had only deepened your craving rather than appeased it. 

Then he shifts his hips a little and uses his hand to guide his shaft toward your opening. You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as he begins to push inside. You're extremely wet, but you still feel uncomfortably stretched as he slides in all the way. Steve doesn’t give you time to adjust before withdrawing and slamming in again, his thrust doling out punishment and pleasure.

“Fuck,” he hisses when you squeeze around him, and a sharp slap lands on your ass. “You’re so tight.”

You bite your lower lip, trying to cope with the burning, too-full feeling. You clutch at the bed sheets, needing something to hold on to as the familiar tension starts to gather low in your belly. The head of his cock brushes against that sensitive spot somewhere inside you. You gasp as he pulls your hair harshly making you arch to take him deeper, needing more of that intense sensation, wanting to bring you over the edge.

“Oh my god, Steve, yes,” you cried, finding your face pressed into the mattress again and you could hardly breathe. All you can feel is him: the back-and-forth movement of his thick cock inside your body, the heat emanating from his skin. 

In this position, he goes deep, even deeper than usual, and you can’t help the pained gasps that escape your throat as the head of his cock bumps against your cervix with each thrust of his hips. Yet the discomfort doesn’t seem to prevent the pressure growing inside you again, and you feel climax coming again, your inner muscles clenching helplessly around his shaft.

“Oh no you don't,” He groans harshly, sensing that you're about to come. Then he pulls out. Leaving a void of emptiness that aches. The womanly fluids that leak down your thighs now felt cold, before you could protest, Steve flips you again and your eyes finally get to lay upon his magnificence, his erection at your eye level.

But all he does is look at you, a mocking half-smile playing on his beautiful lips. “You think I’m going to come inside you, Y/N?” he asks softly. “Is that what you’re expecting me to do?”

You blink, startled by the question. Of course you expect him to do that. You did something that upsetted him. Apparently reading the answer on your face, he smiles wider. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not exactly in a generous mood.” 

“Sit up and suck it,” he murmurs, looking down at you.

Aroused by the command, you fluttered your tongue across the underside and shivered with delight when he rewarded you with a hot burst of pre-cum. Fisting the root of him with one hand, you hollow your cheeks and draw rhythmically.

You cup his balls in your other hand and squeeze them lightly. He groans, his eyes closing and his hand fisting your hair, and you continue, moving your mouth up and down on his cock, swallowing him deeper every time.

Your head bobbed as you pleasured him, jacking him with one hand while you sucked and stroked the crest with your mouth. Heavy veins coursed the length of his cock, and you slid the flat of your tongue along them, tilting your head to find and caress each one. 

He swelled, growing thicker and longer.

“Baby, you suck me so good.” He held your head still and took over. Thrusting his hips. Fucking your mouth. Stripped to a level of base need where only the race to orgasm mattered.

You gripped his straining thighs in both hands, frantically working your lips and tongue, desperate for his climax. His balls were heavy and big, an audacious display of his powerful virility. You cupped them, rolling them gently, feeling them tighten and draw up.

“Ah, Y/N.” His voice was a guttural rasp. His grip tightened in your hair. “You’re making me come.” 

The first spurt of semen was so thick, you struggled to swallow. Mindless in his pleasure, Steve was thrusting against the back of your throat, his cock throbbing with every wrenching pulse into your mouth. You eyes watered and your lungs burned, but still you pumped your fists, milking him. His entire body shuddered as you took everything he had. The sounds he made and the muttered, breathless praise were the most gratifying you'd ever heard. 

You licked him clean, keeping eye contact the entire time, marveling at how he didn’t fully soften even after an explosive orgasm. He was still capable of fucking you senseless and more than willing to, you knew. He wasn't kidding when he says he can do it all fucking day.

× × × ×

“OH, God.” Your hands fisted the sheets beneath you, your back arching as Steve pinned your hips to the bed and his lips circled your clit and his cheeks hollowed. Sucking rhythmically, he massaged the hypersensitive knot with the tip of his tongue.

Your skin was coated in a fine sheen of sweat, your vision blurring as your core tightened viciously in preparation for orgasm. Your pulse was thrumming and racing. You've comed twice already, as much from the sight of his blonde head between your legs as from his wickedly gifted mouth. 

“I’m ready.” You pushed your fingers into his hair, feeling the dampness at the roots. His restraint was costing him. You're overstimulated and he's taking the time to make sure you are soft and wet before filling you too full with his long, thick cock.

“I’ll decide when you’re ready.”

“I need you inside me, please. I won’t disobey your orders again.” You pleaded, bucking your hips towards his face.

“You ache without my cock inside you. You’ll say anything to have me there.” Steve crawled toward you like a sleek panther on the prowl.

“Yes.”

He hovered over you, his big body casting a shadow over yours. Tilting his head, he lowered his mouth and lightly traced the seam of your lips with the tip of his tongue. 

“You crave it. You feel empty without it.” 

“Yes, damn you.” You gripped his lean hips, arching upward to try to feel his body against your. You never felt closer to him than when you were making love, and you needed that closeness now, needed to feel like you were okay.

He settled between your legs, his erection lying hard and hot between the lips of your pussy. 

“I need you,” you breathed, rubbing your wet cleft shamelessly along the heated length of his cock.

“Not yet.” He moved, rolling his hips to find you with the broad head of his penis. He pushed gently against you, parting you, spreading you open as he slipped just the tip inside. You writhed against the tight fit, your body begging. 

“Fuck me. God … just fuck me!” 

Steve reached down with one hand and grabbed your hip, stemming your frenzied attempts to push up and take more of him.

You fought his hold. Your nails dug into the tight curves of his ass and you tugged him against you. If you didn’t get him in you, you thought you'd lose your mind. 

“Give it to me!”

Steve slid his hand into your hair, fisting it to hold you where he wanted you. “Look at me.” 

“Steven!” 

“Look at me.”

You stilled at the command in his voice. You stared up at him, your frustration melting as you watched a slow, gradual transformation sweep over his handsome face.

With his eyes still on yours, he reached beside him to claim your wrists. One at a time, he lifted your arms over your head, restraining you. Pinned to the mattress by his grip, his weight, and his unflagging erection.

Steve slowly enters you, penetrating you inch by slow inch. It feels good, so unbelievably good, and you moan again, tightening your inner muscles around his shaft. He groans, closing his eyes, and you do it again, wanting more of the sensation. 

He opens his eyes and stares at you, his face taut with lust and his eyes glittering. You hold his gaze, fascinated by the fierce need you see there.

He began to thrust, stroking through the trembling walls of your cunt with the thickly veined length of his big cock. Claiming you. Possessing you.

You can hear his harsh breathing, and you know that he’s exerting a lot of control over himself, that he probably wants to fuck you harder but is trying not to ‘damage you beyond repair.’ Nevertheless, his movements cause your insides to twist and churn, causing you to cry out with every stroke.

“I love you.” your voice is barely audible, each word feeling like it’s being wrenched out of your very soul.

You can see his pupils dilating while grinding breathlessly, “Tell me again.” 

“I love you.” which came out like a small, helpless sound.

“I love you too.”

Struggling with the grinding urge to rock into the ferocious thrusts of his big cock. He shoved his other hand beneath your hip, cupping your rear and lifting you into his thrusts so that his cock head stroked over and over the spot that ached for him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growled, pounding his hips up at you, yanking your hips up to meet his punishing strokes. 

“Yes, yes! Come inside me.” you yelped, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Steve hit the end of you with every deep thrust, battering into you. You could feel him growing harder and thicker. You watched him avidly, needing to see it when he went over the edge for you. His eyes were wild with his need, losing their focus as his control frayed, his gorgeous face ravaged by the brutal race to climax. 

“Y/N, I'm coming!” He came with an animal sound of feral ecstasy, a snarling release that riveted you with its ferocity. He shook as the orgasm tore into him, his cock jerking as it pumped thick spurts of scorching semen into you.

You climaxed in a rush that had you sobbing his name, your bodies convulsing as the sensation enhanced and magnified by the way he’d controlled your body. 

Steve laid on top of you, waiting for his cock to get soft before he pulled out. Your body remains convulsing under him.

“You’re a machine,” you told him, trying to catch your breath. “Or a god.”

Steve let out a low, breathless chuckle, the sound vibrating against your skin as he held you close. He laid beside you, his chest was still heaving from the intensity of what you had just done, but there was a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he looked down at you. Steve shifted slightly, so he could meet your eyes, his expression softening as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. 

“Maybe,” he murmured, his voice rough and warm from exertion. “But as much as I like the sound of being a god,” he continued, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “I think I’d rather just be the man who’s lucky enough to have you in his arms.”

“Just don’t pull a stunt like that on me again and I’ll be fine,” he responded, his tone a mix of lingering concern and affection. But there was still an edge to his voice.

“But it’s against my nature to ignore—” you started, trying to explain yourself, but Steve cut you off, his gaze intense.

“Do I have to impregnate you? For you to think more carefully?” he asked, his voice low and filled with a rough, teasing tone that sent a shiver down your spine. The words were provocative, laced with a mix of frustration and possessiveness that made your breath catch.

Your eyes widened slightly at his bold statement, your heart skipping a beat as the meaning of his words sank in. There was a challenge in his eyes, but also a deep-seated need—a desire to protect you, to keep you safe in a way that was so intensely Steve.

“Is that what it’s going to take?” he continued, his tone softening just a bit, though the intensity in his gaze never wavered. “Because I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make sure you’re careful out there. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I won’t.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your mind racing with his words and the seriousness behind them. He wasn’t just teasing; there was a part of him that meant every word. It was possessive, yes, but it was also born from a place of deep love and fear of losing you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I’ll be more careful, I promise.”

Steve’s expression softened, his eyes searching yours as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“Good,” he murmured against your mouth, his tone still laced with that protective tone. “Because I’m not letting you out of my sight, not if I can help it.”

[muzansfangs]

Shinji arguing with wife reader cuz he don't want her going on missions turning into passionate breeding 🙏🙏

Maternity leave.

Starring: Shinji Hirako x f!reader;

Format: drabble;

Warnings: nsfw, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding kink, mention to pregnancy, turn back the pendolum arc, power imbalance, dirty talk, established relationship, married couple, altercations, overprotective Shinji, jealousy, kind of toxic Shinji;

Plot: When you decide to request a transfer from the Fifth Division to the Twelfth, your husband feels the ground shake beneath his feet. All of his efforts to keep you away from supposedly dangerous missions had turned out to be useless. Maybe, then, it is time for him to assure your absence from the battlefield for nine months.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“What did ya say?” the Captain of the Fifth Division disinterestedly asked you, cheek propped onto the upturned palm of his hand, his posture indecent for a man of his rank. Trying to keep Shinji Hirako in line, however, was impossible. You had given up on it long ago, leaving the absurd and tiresome task to the brilliant Lieutenant your husband had just appointed.

Anyway, biting your tongue not to reprimand him for his deleterious habit of slacking off early in the morning, you huffed and threw your hands in the air in frustration “I said that’s my last day in the Fifth Division. Do I have to ask Captain Unohana to check your hearing?” you replied pointedly sarcastic in the inclination your voice took.

He blinked. A reaction. This time you had his full attention.

“What the heck? — he scoffed — I don’t think I get it”.

“Well, that’s not my problem. I’ll keep my rank of Fourth seat, but I’ll be working for Captain Urahara starting from tomorrow” you informed him, narrowing your eyes at his scornful attitude. You expected him to hamstring your initiative. After all, he was your husband and your Captain. He refused to let you go.

Despite that, Captain Hirako had it coming. After decades of denying you the consent to go on ‘risky’ missions in the World of the Livings, you had officially decided you were not going to accept such a treatment any longer. You were even better than the Third seat he had promoted a couple of years ago, yet he had confined you to a lower rank for the sake of his obsession to keep you safe and sound. You were so fed up. His decisions were questionable and even your collegues were starting rumors about ‘the Captain’s favoritism towards his wife’. On the other hand, arguing daily with your husband hurt you. The best solution was for you to be another Captain’s underling.

“Why? Do ya really think I’m gonna sign the documents to allow—”.

“It won’t be necessary” you cut him off, unfolding a paper signed from the Captain Commander himself. Of course you had outfoxed him. You were far-sighted, sadly. Your husband knew how sneaky you could be, when you wanted something so desperately.

He tsked, scrunching up the paper in indignation and tossing it in the bin underneath his desk “You can’t do that to me! What have I done to deserve this?”.

“And what did I do to be perpetually the last choice for missions? You secrifice lower ranks to spare my life, when I could easily get the job done unscathed and save them from a miserable death!” you snapped, watching your husband clench his fists down his sides and circle the desk to stand directly in front of you.

The tension was palpable between you two. Shinji knew you were right. He had sent the ninth and tenth seats to fight off a couple of Hollows in Karakura only for them to never return. The mission was initially yours to take. The kind Lieutenant had even offered you his support, suggesting your husband to let you make your experinces under his watch.

The idea of you in another dimension with a man that was not him revolted Shinji. Sending two young recruits to die had been incredibly reckless from his behalf, but it was not yours the name your comrades were mourning now, right?

“You should be grateful I’m protecting you!” Shinji retaliated, staring you down coldly and expecting you to fold like you always did when this got messy.

The moment you bitterly laughed at his face and shook your head at his declaration, he realized how serious you were about abandoning the Division and spit on his face for loving you a little too much “This is your excuse for making me cast off my role of a shinigami? I have been serving the Gotei 13 longer before we started dating. I am a warrior, Shinji. No matter what happens to my sentimental life. I have sweared to protect this place before you decided protecting me was your priority”.

You watched his eyes widen in horror, hand palming his forehead before he closed his eyes in what you assumed was defeat. There was nothing he could do to prevent you from working for Urahara. Still, there was actually something he could do to temporary keep you out of the battlefield. You had been talking about it for years now, but the longevity of your lives somehow alleviated the pressure of procreating. Here. This was what he had to do. He had to impregnate you, fucking you so hard and intensely you were going to beg him to fill you up over and over again.

The hot minute of silence between you two made you think it was time to leave to pack your stuff, but you were suddenly spun around by your husband whose lips stole a scorching kiss from you.

The initial surprise left your body almost instinctively as you began to reciprocate his kisses. His hands fumbled with the sash of your hakama to yank your pants down your thighs. You could sense some eagerness in his frantic actions, his nimble fingers working their way insides your underwear to pry your dewy folds open. Sharp intakes of air filled the silence of his office, whilst he began to rub your clitoris furiously.

“You can’t solve your problems with sex” you pointed out, a strained moan erupting from your throat the moment he sank his index into you hole.

“Too bad you let me fuck your attitude out of you every damn time then” Shinji rasped out, teeth nipping at your earlobe while he heedlessly backed you to his desk. How many times he had wrecked you on the office forniture. How many times you had let him do that. Today was not an exception.

You rolled your eyes at him, legs finally free from your trousers as he lined his shaft to your entrance and hovered over you completely. Your legs enveloped his narrow his, a blond waterfall of silky hair draping over your face as he snapped his hips forwards. You moaned out in pleasure, his cock splitting your warm walls apart gradually. How beautiful you looked like that to him.

Mouth ajar, you spasmed out in bliss, allowing him to bask in your beauty.

“C’mon, tell me I’m a massive idiot for putting your safety above anythin’ else” he flaunted himself, pulling himself half way out before plunging back into you with force.

The desk creaked, you whined “You think a quickie can change my mind? Bold of you to assume I’m so shallow” you retorted, hands tugging at the long strands of his hair as he liked you to do.

But Shinji knew what he was doing, when he did not pull out that night. He knew what he was doing when the following day he sent you to Urahara with wobbly legs and his seed leaking out of you with each step you took. He knew he had won when you got pregnant and Urahara granted you a maternity leave.

After all, he was not going to lose the argument, or you.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Happy Halloween, guys! I have literally picked a random thirst from my inbox and … Well, I have written it down impulsively. Hopefully, this does not suck. Anyway, let me know your precious opinions and remember to support your favorite blogs by liking, commenting and, above all, re-posting!

Love,

– Luce

TAGS: @j-u-u-z-o @jesurum-says-hi @villainsrtasty @yeowangies @my-my-my @dehemetera (un po’ di Shinji non guasta mai), @noirfan12 @pin-k-ink @persuasivus

[paulyenvol6]

Bound by Flame (Chapter 11)

Contains: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, dubcon, oral (f receiving), degrading dirty talk, praising, overstimulating, possessiveness, dominant Daemon, angst

Wordcount: ~4.60k

Masterlist of this story

Daemon turned out to be right.

Viserys made no move to throw him and therefore Maera out of the keep and in the evening they even took supper with the king.

When the rogue prince had entered the keep earlier after his conversation with Viserys, he had approached a servant and demanded to be brought to his wife. Lucky for the servant he had agreed and taken Daemon to her old chambers in the west wing of the castle. There he had found his niece happily looking out of the window and her sigh had warmed his stomach. Seeing the girl content was the dearest thing to him after all.

He wasn't entirely satisfied with the housing situation though and told Maera that they would live in his old chambers a floor below as his rooms were bigger and consequently more comfortable for two people and perhaps a little child. Despite looking a little sad she had agreed and the couple had spent the afternoon taking Maera's old stuff down to his rooms and then in the evening a servant had come to take them to the king's chambers.

It would be a lie to say that Daemon wasn't a little surprised as he had expected to ignore him at least for a little while, but he assumed that Viserys felt the urge to spend as much time with his daughter as possible and he couldn't simply leave out Daemon.

When he and his niece entered the king's rooms he looked bitter. A stiff posture, his mouth tensed and a strict look in his eyes. He seemingly tried to welcome Maera as friendly and lovingly as he could but when his eyes fell on his brother he merely nodded while grinding his teeth. Maera smiled shyly and then took her place beside her husband with her father to her opposite.

At first there was an uncomfortable silence that was so sharp and full of tension, it seemed to cut through the air and at some point Maera couldn't stand it any longer.

"Father, I haven't seen Aegon yet. Where is he?"

Viserys looked at his plate while answering: "He's on a progress throughout the country. An attempt to find him a suitable wife."

His daughter raised her eyebrows looking surprised. "Oh yes? I thought he was set to wed the lady Sierra of house Velaryon."

The king toyed with the cup of wine in his hands. "Yeah well… He was, but he refused me so harshly that I decided to leave the choice to him. As long as his match will be highborn and of a marriagable age I will agree to it."

They kept the topic up for another few minutes with Daemon mainly listening to the talking rather than taking part in it as well. But then when they were speaking about court and the fact that Otto Hightower's wife was with child again Maera did something without thinking about the consequences of her actions.

"Father… you will meet Baelon soon. He is wonderful and you will love him, I'm sure."

Viserys' face was far away from looking pleased. Instead he stared at Maera with tight lips and at first didn't answer her at all.

"Please father," she breathed. "He's my son."

The king inhaled deeply and took his eyes off his daughter which Daemon observed with narrow eyes.

"Let us speak about something else," Viserys demanded at last which the rogue prince replied to with a scoff. It fueled Maera's father with anger.

"How dare you mock me, Daemon! In my own halls after I have granted you my hospitility!? AFTER you've kidnapped my daughter and held her hostage for almost a year!"

He had jumped to his feet and smacked his hand on the table emphasizing his last words. His daughter grabbed his arms and desperately tried to calm him.

"Please. Please don't, can't we just – Can't we just make this a pleasant meal?"

Perhaps her words had an impact on him. He froze in the motion his eyes still spitting fire at his brother but he kept his mouth closed. A few seconds of silence and then Viserys sat down again. His shaky hands reached to his cup of wine and while still boiling with fury he took a little sip. Maera used the moment to swiftly change the subject.

"The library looks different, father. Have you finally changed the tapestries?"

The rest of the supper went on peacefully which was partly because Daemon barely said another word. He looked bored as he sat back in his chair and examined his nails while Maera tried everything to not let the situation escalate again. When Viserys finally excused himself and announced that he was gonna go to bed she exhaled and her tense muscled relaxed.

Once her father had left the room Daemon and Maera exchanged a look and then he stood up and guided his niece to follow him. He held her hand while leading her out of the chambers as well and then up to his chambers. All the way up neither of them said a word but at some point it just bursted out of Maera.

"Must you mock him like that, uncle?" she pressed and Daemon's cold eyes landed on her. As he didn't answer, the girl continued while sitting down on a chair.

"You know that he gets emotional about… this. You know that it will make him angry."

"It's not his fucking place to get angry," he growled and blared his teeth. Maera gasped for air and threw her head back in despair. Then she quickly knelt in front of her husband and reached out to take his hands.

"Please Daemon. I haven't seen him in months and I just… I just want this to work. I'm certain that he will be kind and warm to us if only we don't provoke him. He has love for us and I know that he wants us here as well."

He roughly pushed her hands away and instead grabbed her chin tightly which made Maera gasp in surprise. Daemon watched her with so much disgust that she almost actually believed that he despised her.

"He wants you here. But he wants to get rid of me as quickly as possible. I wouldn't be surprised if he attempts to have me killed."

His wife's face was drawn with sadness and she dropped the corners of her mouths.

"How can you say such things? You're his brother."

"He's quite unsupportive for a brother, wouldn't you agree? I married you and I got you with child, I protected you and I made sure that no one would harm you. What more could a man wish for his daughter?"

She gulped loudly and exhaled when her uncle let go of her. But Daemon wasn't done yet.

"He acts as if I intend to destroy you. If he merely opened his eyes for a second he'd see that I kept you at Dragonstone so you'd be able to give birth in peace and quietness. And quite frankly so you, my darling, could learn to obey me and be willing and therefore would allow me to take care of you."

Daemon sank back in his chair and turned his head away. This wasn't at all how he had imagined the reunion with his brother because he honestly had been looking forward to it as well. He had thought that Viserys would be able to see that he was a good husband to Maera and that her well-being was the most important thing to him. What a stubborn fool, he thought. Too caught up in his imagination to be able to see what was right in front of him. Daemon slowly shook his head.

"When I returned from the stepstones I saw how you were doing. I saw that you were a mess, a girl that had lost all of her liveliness. That was because you were meant to be mine, Maera, and the years apart from me had made you grey and pale. You were made to be at my side. But your father also hasn't been able to see that." He scoffed. "The sadness upon the face of his own daughter…"

His niece had her face tilted to the ground so Daemon softly caressed the side of her face without putting any force into it. He smiled crookedly to himself and drew small circles with his thumb over her skin.

"Get on the bed," he eventually breathed and Maera raised her head.

She looked a little surprised but the determination and passion on her uncle's face made her automatically lift herself off the ground and walk towards their bed. She climbed on it not sure in what position he wanted her so she sat on it while waiting for his next orders.

Daemon took his time. He lazily got up from the chair, opened the first buttons of his shirt and eventually removed it. Only then did his eyes finally land on her figure and he narrowed his eyes.

"On your back. And spread your legs."

Maera obeyed and laid down with her head in the cushions. Her dress slipped a little and exposed her leg which didn't go unnoticed by her uncle. His heart beat fast at the image before him; her silver hair spread out on the pillow, her slightly parted lips, her body sprawled out on display for him and how she so willingly waited for him to claim her.

Daemon approached her and crawled between her spread thighs. His center pressed against her while he leaned down to kiss her on the swell of her breasts but tonight he didn't seem to be very patient as he made his way downwards almost immediately until he laid with his face on the same level as her cunt. Daemon pulled up her skirts and undergarment so her cunt was entirely bare beneath his eyes and took his time to carve this picture in his head.

Of course he had seen her like that what felt like a million times already. But each time there was another detail that stuck out to him and which he wanted to remember forever. Tonight it was her slender small hands that laid next to her head and that he really wished to see around his cock at this moment. But no, now he needed to taste her. He needed to own and feel her. Have her. Therefore he needed to experience her with his every sense and right now he craved tasting her sweet arousal on his tongue.

So he dived between her thighs and just like so many times before put his soft lips on her pearl. At this point he knew what he had to do to drive her over the edge and had learned what she liked. How to twist and turn his tongue the way she liked it, how to suck her bundle of nerves into his mouth, just very lightly and not with too much pressure. How she squirmed whenever he touched her pearl with the tip of his tongue so gently that Maera almost believed that it hadn't happened and yet she wanted him to do it again and again.

And so as always she let out a desperate gasp for air when his tongue circled her pearl and she instinctively fisted the bed sheets.

"Oh fuck."

"Such a good girl. I know you enjoy this, don't you? Me rubbing where it itches so badly, right?"

She couldn't bring herself to an answer and instead tried to communicate with him via her eyes. The odd thing was that despite genuinely receiving pleasure by his mouth, tonight Maera simply felt overwhelmed and exhausted from all the conflicts between Daemon and her father which was why she wasn't fully into it. What he did felt good but she couldn't turn her brain off and entirely let herself go so her eyes were wide open while she started to rock her core against his mouth.

"That's right, babygirl. You're gonna soak my face? Wet me with your juices?"

She gulped and forced her eyes to close and tried to concentrate on the way he so gently touched her center with his mouth but it really was hard for her in this moment. The memory of her father's fury, the way he had cursed her husband and how she had almost been able to physically feel the gap between Daemon and Viserys deepen was too fresh and vivid in her head.

Her uncle didn't notice anything about her disturbed mind though and was utterly consumed by her sweet cunt. He hummed against her core which sent vibrations through her whole body and contendly traced around her little nub.

"That's it… I'm the only one who can make you feel that good, little one. And I'm the only one who'll ever get to see that sweet cunt of yours. Every fucking inch of you is mine. All this pretty head is supposed to think about is me, isn't that right?"

She whined and bit her lip. Pleasure washed over her and once again Daemon's skill with his tongue overshadowed every single one of her bad and dark thoughts. Each of her worries and doubts faded to nothing when he placed his magical mouth on her pearl and made her see stars by merely flicking his tongue.

"Please uncle…" she moaned and slightly lifted her head off the bed to watch his head between her thighs as if she wanted to make sure he wouldn't stop.

"Yes… Let me hear you, love. Let me hear you surrender. You know who owns you, mhm? You know what to do so I'll reward you. You just lay still with your legs spread open for me and take everything I give you with a 'thank you'. You are to obey me and keep those pretty eyes on me. And then we'll all get what we want."

"Yes. Please, I'll do as you say," she whispered and Daemon let out a satisfied growl.

That was the way he wanted her. Sprawled out with her body being his to use. Gods how he loved it when she was his good girl and willingly gave herself to him. It was so much easier than taming her and putting her into her place.

He softly blew some air over her pearl which she commented with a quiet shriek that truly was music to his ears. She twitched and squirmed under his hands that held her down as the stimulation was almost too intense.

"Take it, babygirl. Just like that. I know it's a lot but you can do it. I know you can."

His voice was so husky and raspy and in some odd way it seemed to only intensify the whole of the situation. It enhanced her desire and made her want to squeeze something. Good thing that her uncle's shoulders seemed so fit for it. Maera reached out to grasp at his strong arms and helplessly dug her fingers into his muscles in order to somehow get rid of the tension she felt in her body. By now she slowly rocked her center against her husband's face to receive further friction and in the meantime felt herself slipping towards the edge.

"Daemon… Please, I… I think I'm close."

Her uncle smirked at that and gently nibbled at her pearl. What a good girl she was always letting him know when she was about to finish.

"Don't be shy, sweetling. You can finish… You can soak your uncle's face. I've got you."

His reassurance made her relax and when she finally felt her high approaching she didn't hold back. While Daemon rubbed her pearl with his pointed tongue Maera screamed out and her body arched. Her toes curled, she squinted her eyes, she almost bit her lip bloody and her uncle watched each reaction with relish.

"Good girl…" he whispered and lapped up her wetness while giving her time to enjoy her high to the full.

Daemon then cleaned her cunt with his mouth and made sure that he had savoured every last drop of her arousal despite her shifting and flinching whenever his tongue drew over her overstimulated pearl. Only when he was certain that he had lapped up everything did he pull away and crawled up to be on the same level as her.

He examined her tired eyes and the sweat that had gathered on her forehead and felt a possessive and warm feeling in his stomach. Daemon lovingly put aside some strands of her hair and kissed her forehead.

"This cunt is the best meal I've ever had and ever will have."

Blood rushed into her cheeks at his words so she seemingly wasn't too fucked out to understand him. Daemon kissed her one last time and then decided to proceed and find some relief himself. His cock was hard and he wished for nothing more than to spill his seed either down her throat or into her cunt. Perhaps her throat would be what he desired most right now… Her warm little tongue teasing his tip and licking his precum off it. He made sure that he had his niece's attention and ran a hand over her side.

"You're gonna get on your knees for me, Maera? Give your uncle some relief?"

He was a little surprised when she didn't immediately nod or smile but instead doubtfully widened her eyes.

Daemon sighed. "What is it, little girl?"

"Please… Can I do it in the morrow? I don't want to right now. Please…"

His eyes became small and he eyed his niece while running a finger over her jaw.

"No. But perhaps you will additionally do it in the morrow, I've just decided."

"Please, uncle. Have mercy," she pleaded but could've saved herself the words because Daemon just started to open his breeches to free his cock.

"I'll give you a choice, babygirl. You can either get on your knees for me or I'll fuck your cunt. I'm gonna dump my seed into you tonight but you can decide where."

He roughly grabbed her throat because Maera had started to pout and broke eye contace with him.

"But if you're gonna sulk at me I'm gonna take both of your slutty holes one after the other and maybe even deflower your arse just for the fun of it. So you'll better choose now and behave yourself or I'll fucking decide for you," he hissed while blaring his teeth and his niece gulped loudly. Still, she decided not to test his patience and submissively looked to the side.

"Then fuck me," she stated quietly but Daemon wasn't yet satisfied.

"You will ask me again nicely. With respect."

Maera finally glanced up to him and couldn't help but nibble at the nail of her thumb.

"Please. Fuck me, Daemon."

The rogue prince nodded approvingly and caressed the side of her face. "There you go."

With these words he parted her legs further so he could take a look at her cunt that glistened in the candle light from her arousal and the sight and scent made Daemon dizzy. He had been buried inside of her warmth so many countless times and yet the thought of fucking her tight cunt hadn't lost its allure; on the contrary, he knew what to expect and that made the blood in his veins boil with anticipation.

He guided his tip to her pearl, teasingly circled it a few times which made Maera uncomfortably shift thanks to the overstimulation and then wandered down to her hole. Daemon bit his lower lip, felt the bubbly feeling in his stomach that he always experienced when he knew what was about to happen to his cock and then pushed inside of her.

She was so wet that there wasn't any pain for the girl but her eyes fluttered at the delicious stretch. Her uncle wasn't exactly small when it came to the size of his cock and despite having been fucked so many countless times by him, she was left in awe of his largeness each time.

Daemon on the other hand panted heavily once he felt her snug walls that coated his member so beautifully. She was so damn tight around him and his cock was so perfectly massaged while thrusting into her.

He buried his face into the crouch of her neck and kissed her soft skin while setting a fast pace that left Maera gasping for air. Her eyes were round and her lips parted while she stared at the unfamiliar sight of the ceiling of Daemon's chambers. Well, it wasn't an entirely strange view because as a child she had sometimes spent the nights in her uncle's bed when she had had a nightmare and had seeked his comfort or when she merely needed his company because she was sad about something. But this sight still felt odd to her. How different her life had been the last time she had seen this ceiling. She hadn't known anything about the act of bedding or men or raising a child. Now she was married and had a child. Maera wasn't able to name the feeling creeping up on her in that moment but it left a certain taste in her mouth.

She snapped back to the present moment at a sharp thrust in her core and arched on the bed. A few of Daemon's strands of silver hair tingled her nose which led to her almost sneezing but she held it back. With a quiet whine Maera wrapped her arms around his back and buried her hands in his neck and in his soft hair to hold on to something. In the meantime her uncle's left hand had grabbed her shoulder tightly while his right had wandered to her breasts to massage one of her tits.

"Let me hear you, little one. Let me hear how you're melting," he growled and the sound made her stomach tighten with desire. He had this special raspy tone in his voice when he was turned on and Maera had to whimper against his hair.

Yet she needed more; his or her own finger on her pearl to help her to finish but she was unable to communicate her needs. She would prefer to have him rub her because he did it so well that she was certain he would bring her over the edge in a matter of minutes but she had to find the words, get herself to open her mouth and then say them clearly and loud but all of that seemed impossible right now.

She felt so full, so stunned with his body pressed to hers that she couldn't even form the sentence in her head. This fact angered her and she dissatisfiedly moaned and moved underneath him. If only he could read her mind and find out what she wished for that way. Maera opened her mouth but only a weak whimper went past her lips.

"What is it, little love? Mhm? What do you need?"

She was happy to have his attention and again moaned out while pushing her hips towards him. Her uncle chuckled quietly and gently stroked her hair.

"Your pretty little pearl is aching for me, isn't that right? Does she need my finger?"

Maera eagerly nodded feeling relieved because Daemon had understood and sighed contendly when he moved his hand that had previously stimulated her nipples down between her legs. His cock still pounded her cunt but now the only thing she could concentrate on was her pulsating nub that yearned for Daemon's beautiful hand.

"I bet she's throbbing so badly, right? Do you want it, Maera? You want to come? You want me to rub your pearl?"

She nodded so fastly that she felt dizzy for a moment and tried to push her body towards his hand so he would finally connect his thumb to her center.

"Please," she managed to press and Daemon smirked smugly but actually started to rub her pearl in circles.

Maera cried out and her head fell back in the cushions while panting rapidly. He watched his niece for her reaction, how her face tensed and her toes curled and nothing in this world gave him more satisfaction than to see how he was able to turn her into such a mess.

"I want you to finish with me," he stated though he was not sure whether Maera had even listened to him. Her mind seemed so far away and she was so caught up in her pleasure that her eyes had rolled back. Yet he noticed how she came closer to the edge the longer he kept his finger connected with that sweet little pearl of hers that Daemon loved so dearly.

He pressed into it and enclosed it with his finger all while using her own natural body fluid to coat it. And then she felt her high approaching and fortunately her uncle read all of her body signs correctly so she didn't have to gather all her strength to tell him that she was close. Maera felt some sharp and forceful thrusts in her core and then Daemon grinded his teeth.

"Come, little girl. Come for me."

He slapped the side of her arse lightly and in that moment she collapsed and her chest heaved and lowered itself hectically. The tension in her stomach had contradicted and now all that was left of her was a panting and powerless mess.

Daemon had filled her up with his seed in the meantime. Once he had sensed that his niece was about to finish he had increased the pace and had fucked her roughly until he felt that he couldn't hold it any longer either and had allowed both of them to finish. His seed had filled her cunt to the brim and as always, it gave him so much satisfaction to feel and see how his semen claimed her cunt. He was incredibly possessive over his little girl and to know that it was his cum that shot into her cunt and that it would be his alone for the rest of their lives never failed to enhance his passion.

Daemon exhaled a couple of times and then rolled off her to lay on his back. Maera wasn't fond of the loss of his weight on her and weakly opened her eyes to see what he was doing.

"Uncle…," she whined and put her hands on his strong arm. The addressed grinned but turned his head to the side. His niece crawled over to him, pressed her body against his arm and made sure that he couldn't get out of bed by wrapping her legs and arms tightly around him.

Although he had intended to clean Maera now he decided to spend a few minutes in bed with her since she seemed so whiny and in need of his love right now so Daemon put his arm which she hadn't occupied on her back and caressed her naked skin soothingly.

He smiled with satisfaction when she buried her face in the nape of his neck and sensed how exhausted she was in the way that she breathed steadily and seemed to be on the verge of falling asleep.

It wasn't until Daemon had almost entered the world of dreams that he remembered that he wasn't supposed to fall asleep yet, but just as he was about to open his eyes, his world went black and the prince fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@smashee0789 @classicsimpforaaronwarner @hangmanscoming @ninihrtss @coffeebooksrain18 @aleemendoza2425-blog @chiminies-noona

[osunari]

⚠︎ s i l e n t t e m p t a t i o n s ( 18+ )

—ch.6

➤ s t a r t

Mr. Crawling x MC

—h o m i c i p h e r 𒌧

“Mr. Crawling”

The corridor was eerily quiet, the sound of mr. scarletella’s platforms against the marble floor the only thing breaking the stillness. Your sleeping form remained cradled in his arms, your head resting softly against his chest, your quiet, steady breathing a gentle rhythm that he couldn’t ignore. He glanced down at you, his inky void-like eyes lingering on your face as a faint warmth crept into his chest.

He hadn’t planned on carrying you like this. He wasn’t the type of individual to pamper one, let alone let his guard down, but after everything that had happened, you’d fallen into such deep slumber that leaving you behind wasn’t an option. His tainted fingers tightened slightly around you, as if holding on just a bit more to prevent you from the other monstrous lurkers of his own cursed place. The faint light caught the curve of your peaceful expression, and for a brief moment, the weight of his usual cold demeanor faltered.

“匚尺ㄩ乃(strange) . . .” he muttered to himself, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. Even in your most vulnerable state, you command all of my attention, he thought. He adjusted his grip, his fingers brushing against your skin lightly, and for a fleeting moment, he let himself revel in the feeling of holding you.

In the midst of his engrossment, his reverie had been interrupted short after a headless bride unexpectedly pops out from behind a corner, her sentimental presence catching him off guard.

“几ㄚ(my) 几ㄚ(my) ! ㄚ几乃(what) 卩(a) 几ㄚ千(sight) !” she greeted, her voice melodic but tinged with something calculated. As if controlled by a puppeteer on a string-pulled device, her body shifted and took on a dramatic form of a complainer—her hand hovering above her chest as the other moved to cover her nonexistent mouth. “几ㄩ(you) 千几尺(find) 千卩(her) ? ! 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ几ㄩ(look) 乇乃丂ㄚ几(everywhere) 千卩(for) 山卂(her) !”

His eyes narrowed, unimpressed, though he didn’t halt his stride. “几ㄚ卂(then) ㄚ几ㄩ(look) 几乂ㄚ尺卩(elsewhere) .” he replied snappily, attempting to teleport past her.

Ms. bride raised her hands in protest, her voice dropping to a whisper when she noticed your slumber. “几乙ㄩ(wait) , 几乙ㄩ(wait) ! 几乃(we) 乇卩ㄥ(friend) ! 卂山(us) 丂千ﾌ几(share) 匚乙几(room) ! 几ㄚ (me) 乂匚ﾌ(take) ㄒㄚ(her) , 千卩(can) ?”

Her insistence irritated him, but he masked it well. He kept walking, treating her as though she were more than a ghost herself, invisible and unimportant. She hounded him with increasingly desperate pleas, her forced tone betraying her intentions. He didn’t stop until she blocked his path one final time, clasping her hands together dramatically. “几ㄚ卩乃几(please) , 几ㄚ卩乃几(please) !” she begged, her voice cracking slightly. “几乃(we) 乇卩ㄥ(friend) ! 几ㄚ(me) 千尺ㄚ(take) ㄚ几卩爪(good) 卩丂爪(care) ㄒㄚ(her) !”

The pause stretched longer than either of them anticipated, thick with unspoken tension. Scarletella’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized ms. bride with a look that carried a mixture of disdain and sharp suspicion. Every muscle in his body tensed, unwilling to part with you, his precious burden—yet, beneath his hardened exterior, there was a flicker of hesitation. The thought of letting you go, of handing you over to someone else, gnawed at him like a burning ache deep inside. But as his eyes locked on your unconscious form in his arms, something in him shifted. He couldn’t keep you to himself, not when you had made your choice clear. If he didn’t let you go, he’d risk making you angry with him, pushing you farther away. The realization stung—harder than he expected.

With a reluctant sigh, he adjusted his hold on you, his heart heavy in his chest, and extended you toward ms. bride. His fingers trembled, the action betraying his discomfort as he tried to conceal the storm of emotions within. It was the right thing to do, but it felt like he was surrendering a part of himself—his one precious thing. Still, he had to do it. He couldn't let his selfishness tear you away from your freedom.

“几ㄚ乃卩(should not) 几ㄚ乃(make) 几ㄚ(me) 乂几卩乇(regret) 乙ㄚ几(decision) .” he muttered, watching as she struggled to take your weight. Ms. bride grinned nervously, nearly buckling under the unexpected heaviness of your form.

“几ㄩ(me) . . . 几ㄩ(me) ㄒ几卩(got) 几乇几(this) . . !” she chirped, adjusting your limp body awkwardly.

She began to shuffle down the corridor, her movements jerky and unsteady as she struggled to carry you. Scarletella stood still, his eyes narrowing as he watched her vanish around a corner. His suspicion deepened, and for a moment, his hand twitched as though he might teleport after her. But he stayed rooted, staring at the space she had disappeared into. “ㄚ乃(she) 几爪(be) ㄚ乃卩几(okay) .” he whispered to himself, his eyes lingering on you as she began to shuffle away. With one final glance, he turned and teleported away, his crimson coat swaying in the dim light.

Ms. bride stumbled a few more steps before reaching the end of the corridor, where the man on all fours awaited her, crouched on the ground like a spider in wait. She dropped your form unceremoniously into his waiting arms and locked the door behind her. She leaned against the wall, catching her breath. “几ㄚ(me) ㄚ乙乃乂(tired) ! ㄚ乃(she) ㄚ乃卩爪(heavy) ! 几ㄩ(you) 乃ㄚ几(make) 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ乃(do) 卩乇丂ㄚ几(difficult) 千尺ㄩ(part) !”

Mr. crawling chuckled, his high-pitched voice reverberating in the quiet space. “几ㄩ(you) 乃ㄚ几(told) 几ㄚ(me) 几ㄩ(you) 乂匚几(want) 卩ㄥ爪几(help) .”

“几ㄚ(me) 乂匚几(want) 卩ㄥ爪几(help) ㄚ乃(her) .” Ms. bride replied, “乂ㄚ几(not) 几ㄩ(you) !” she frantically waved her hands around—blaming the man as her worn out arms almost fell off.

With a coordinated teamwork, they carried you into a cushionless bed, setting you down carefully on the makeshift run down furniture. The two exchanged glances, their plan having gone off without a hitch. “乃ㄩ(this) 几ㄩ(your) 卩爪乙(idea) .” Ms. bride said, crossing her arms. “ㄚ卩ㄩ(but) 几ㄚ(me) 乃几ㄚ千(think) 丂ㄩ(it) 爪卩乇(good) . ㄚ乃(she) 几乂(no) ㄖ爪卩(more) 乃爪ㄚ(with) ㄩ几乃乙(unsafe) 乇尺几(man) .”

Mr. crawling’s mind was a storm of confusion as he saw your unconscious form in scarletella’s arms, utterly clueless as to how you had ended up there. He could barely remember the events leading to this moment, but one thing was certain—he couldn’t afford to lose you to that big crimson man. He had to act fast. He could see the way scarletella’s fingers trembled, the indication of possession clear in his every move. He knew that if he didn’t make his move now, he would lose you for good. In a blur of panic and desperation, the thought of Ms. bride flashed in his mind like a guiding beacon. Without a second thought, he summoned her—not for the mere purpose of clothes, but with a plan. A carefully orchestrated scheme that would lead him and her together in stealing you away, making sure the bond between you and Scarletella was severed. This was no longer a matter of just keeping you safe—it was a matter of taking you, of ensuring you were his and his alone.

Mr. crawling nestled himself closer to your sleeping figure, his eyes fixated on you. “几ㄚ(me) ㄩ几卩(hope) ㄚ乃(she) 几乂(not) 尺几千卄(angry) .”

Neither of them noticed your eyelids fluttering open at first. You stirred, your body aching slightly from the disorienting sensation of being moved, slowly rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess.

As your surroundings came into focus, you blinked a few times, your mind struggling to make sense of the strange scene before you. The dim light, the unsettling tension in the air, and the unfamiliar faces were all so disorienting. Your head felt heavy, as if you had been in a deep sleep for far too long. Blinking up at them, you asked, your voice thick with confusion, “What… what happen?” Your words were soft, but the curiosity and concern in your tone were unmistakable. You could feel the weight of their gazes on you, but you couldn’t make sense of the strange energy around you. Something was off, but your foggy mind couldn’t put the pieces together just yet.

Ms. bride immediately leaned forward, clasping her hands together with a relieved smile. “几ㄩ(you) ㄚ乃乙卩(awake) ! 几ㄚ(me) ㄩ乃ㄥㄩ(worry) !” But before you could fully register her words, mr. crawling, who had been quietly staring beside her, suddenly moved. With surprising gentleness, he pushed her aside a little, his eyes locking onto you with a mixture of concern and something softer. “几ㄚ(me) ㄩ乃ㄥㄩ(worry) 几ㄚ乂(more) !” he exclaimed, his voice a bit more intense but filled with genuine affection.

Just as the moment seemed to settle, ms. bride, her expression suddenly shifting, took a step forward. With a quick motion, she shoved mr. crawling aside with surprising force. He stumbled slightly, his large frame wobbling a bit before he caught his balance, looking up at her in surprise.

“几ㄚ(me) ㄩ乃ㄥㄩ(worry) 乙卩乂(most) !” she declared, her voice almost comically stern, her arms crossed as she stood over him with a defiant glare.

Mr. crawling blinked, utterly dumbfounded by the sudden push, and then looked back at you with a mix of confusion and slight exasperation—as if telling her off. His hands gripped the floor as he steadied himself, but there was no mistaking the way his expression softened as he realized what had just happened.

You couldn’t help but find it a little funny, the way they both seemed to be silently competing to show who cared more for you. The seriousness in their voices only made it more absurd, but it wasn’t enough to make you smile. The laughter was there, but it felt hollow, a brief distraction from the heaviness still hanging in the air from everything that had just happened. You couldn’t afford to let your guard down—not now. With them, you never knew what would happen next.

“几ㄚ(me) 卩爪几(win) , 几ㄩ(you) ㄚ几乂(need) ㄚ乃乂(sit) 几千ㄥ丂(down) .” Ms. bride added dramatically, her hands now on her hips as she looked down at mr. crawling, who was still slightly leaning forward, clearly hassled by her forceful intervention.

The sight of them bickering over who worried more about you was so endearing, the way they seemed to care for you in their own unique ways only made your heart swell. A few more words tumbled out quickly, accompanied by a flood of compliments. She marveled at your radiant appearance, brushing her fingers through your hair and exclaiming how much healthier and brighter you looked. “卩爪乙ㄚ卂(beautiful) ! 卩爪乙ㄚ卂(beautiful) !” she said, her voice filled with genuine admiration. “几ㄚ(me) 卩爪ㄚ山(like) 几ㄩ(you) 匚乇卂ㄚ(clothes) !”

Even mr. crawling, who usually kept his emotions tightly restrained, couldn’t mask the awe in his expression. His gaze lingered on you, his eyes softening as they traced the changes in your face. There was a warmth in his voice as he broke the silence, a tenderness that spoke volumes. “ㄚ乃ㄩ几(cute) . .” he murmured, his words almost reverent. “山几ㄖ(look) 几ㄚ爪卩(healthy) .”

You felt a strange warmth in his stare—an almost overwhelming sense of longing. It was as if he’d been waiting an eternity for this moment, and now that it was here, he didn’t know what to do with it.

The tension in the room was obvious, and for a moment, no one spoke. Then, without warning, you sat up straight from the bed, the sudden shift in your body making the room feel almost unreal. The words from ms. bride and your companion were still lingering in the air, but they felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. Her compliment about your clothes, the soft praise, everything they’d done to help you—it all seemed to blur together as you focused on one singular thought.

That’s right, I need to leave.

Mr. crawling’s eyes followed you intently, his usual quiet demeanor momentarily cracking as he watched you, concern flickering in his gaze. You could feel his presence beside you, as tangible as ever, but everything else faded. His gentle voice, though filled with unease, barely registered in your mind. “几ㄩ(you) ㄚ爪卩几(okay ?” he asked, his concern for you perceptible, but you couldn’t hear it, couldn’t focus on anything but your own determination.

Leave. I have to leave.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but everything inside you screamed that this was the right decision. Long ago, you had promised yourself that once you were finally free of the cycle, you would leave. You would walk away from this place and everything it had done to you. Staying here would only mean more pain, more suffering—more of the same twisted game that had consumed you for so long. The thought of returning to the never-ending torment of mr. scarletella’s domain, of being twisted into something you weren’t, something you feared, was unbearable. You would rather return to the life you once lived, the life of blood and fear and silence, than become a monster under his control, dragged deeper into a cycle of madness. The person you were before, though broken—wasn’t a monster. Not like this. Not like him.

You stood, your movements quick and deliberate, pushing away the weight of doubt that threatened to pull you back into the past. You had no time to waste. The door in front of you, though simple, was your only escape, your last chance to leave before the cycle could repeat itself. The memory of mr. scarletella’s cold, indifferent face, his lack of empathy, his twisted form of affection, burned like a scar in your mind. For a moment, you almost let yourself believe in his affection, the way he seemed to care, the way his actions pulled you in. It was tempting to think that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as cruel as he seemed—that perhaps his love was real, even if twisted by his curse. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t love; it was the curse, a twisted force that bound you both in a cycle of pain, and you refused to fall victim to it again. His love was fake, right?

You couldn’t stay here any longer. You couldn’t risk becoming something worse. Not again. Not after everything you had fought through to heal. You ignored their attempts to speak, the gentle murmurs of concern from mr. crawling and the strained words from ms. bride, their voices growing distant and fading into the background. Your focus narrowed, your resolve strengthening. You had made up your mind. This was your chance, and you couldn’t let it slip away.

Rushing toward the door, your hand found the doorknob, your fingers trembling slightly as you gripped the cold metal. It was a stark reminder of the world you were trying to escape. Every inch of this place, every piece of it, was suffocating you, chaining you to a version of yourself that you refused to accept any longer. But before you could even twist the knob, before you could even open the door and break free, a figure appeared from the shadows, blocking your path. Ms. bride. She was standing there, her worried expression a sharp contrast to her usual calm composure. The uncertainty in her nonexistential eyes mirroring the sudden panic in your chest as she spoke, her voice gentle yet urgent.

“乙卩几(wait) ! ㄚ乃爪几(where) 几ㄩ(you) ㄒ几 (go) ? !” she asked, her voice dripping with concern as she cupped your shoulders, her touch gentle but firm.

The warmth of her hands on you only fueled the conflict inside. You had promised yourself that you would leave, but you couldn’t ignore the compassion she showed you. You didn’t want to hurt her, but the decision had already been made. You had to go. You took a deep breath and turned to face her, your heart heavy with the weight of your next words.

“Go exit. Go leave.” you said, your voice breaking with the weight of your confession. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your gaze was fixated on the floor, avoiding their gaze. “Time pass, curse come back. I stay, cycle repeat—hurt come back. No want that.” The words felt heavy, even deciphered into a different language far from yours—like a burden finally lifted off your chest, but the fear of what lay ahead still gnawed at you.

Ms. bride’s grip softened, but there was a glint of something almost imperceptible in her demeanor. She didn’t stop you, but there was something about the way she behaved around you that made you feel like you were walking into a trap. Before you could say more, a small tug at your skirt caught your attention.

You froze, a shiver running down your spine as you turned around. It was mr. crawling.

.

.

.

oh, right. mr. crawling.

—my loyal companion.

how could I almost forget about him?

His face was pale, his eyes wide and almost pleading, as if you had just torn something from him that he didn’t understand how to fix. “几ㄩ(you) . . ㄚ乂乃(leave) ?” His voice was barely a whisper, the sadness in his tone cutting through you like a blade.

His hand still gripped your skirt, a desperate, almost childlike act. His posture slumped, shoulders sagging as if the weight of your departure was too much for him to bear. The look on his face was something you couldn’t fully comprehend. It was a mixture of heartbreak and disbelief. It was as if he couldn’t understand how you could just walk away, how you could leave him behind so easily—after everything he’d experienced with you.

You stood there, frozen, staring at him as if the sight before you was impossible to accept. For a moment, the words you had spoken, the determination that had driven you to walk away—faltered. Your chest tightened painfully, something inside of you stirred with guilt. You had been so focused on your own pain, on your own need to escape, that you hadn’t considered what leaving would do to them. To him.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, your mind swirling with the reality of the situation. How had you been so selfish? So single-minded in your pursuit of freedom that you hadn’t stopped to think about the people around you who had cared for you?

Mr. crawling. His face, so full of sorrow and confusion, haunted you. Had you been too blind to see how much he had sacrificed for you? How much he had done, how many lengths he had gone to for your sake? The thought of him standing there, looking like a lost child waiting to be abandoned, sent a sharp pang through your heart.

You had ignored his kindness, his quiet devotion, because you were so focused on escaping this hellish cycle. It was almost as if you hadn’t realized he had been a constant presence, offering you comfort, support, and even love, in his own, twisted way. His efforts to make you feel safe, to shield you from the worst of it—all of it was overshadowed by your own desire to run.

Your hands trembled as you fought to steady yourself. You wanted to speak, to apologize, but the words felt so inadequate. What could you say to someone who had given so much, only for you to walk away without a second thought?

Without a second thought, you lifted your fallen gaze, and it met his. Your expression softened, a quiet sincerity coloring your features as you gave him a gentle smile, your eyes half-lidded with warmth. “You…” you pointed at his sulking figure, “…want to come?” you asked, the words feeling like a release, a moment of truth in the midst of everything that had happened.

For a moment, time seemed to slow as you watched the transformation in his eyes. They lit up, wide and glowing with an intensity that could only come from the deepest places of his heart. His entire body shifted—there was a subtle yet unmistakable change in his demeanor. It was as though his very essence had been reawakened. His joy was obvious, like a dog who had been abandoned in a shelter for far too long and had finally found someone to call their own. His invisible tail, in your mind’s eye, seemed to wag furiously, as if he was dancing in place.

A wave of something tender swept over you as you realized how much this meant to him. You had given him a chance. You had given him something to hold onto. And in that moment, it wasn’t just about you anymore. It was about both of you, together, in this strange and haunting world. You couldn’t help but feel a soft, radiant warmth settle in your chest, realizing that, in some way, you were giving him what he’d longed for. It was an acknowledgment, an acceptance of everything he had done for you.

Meanwhile, ms. bride, standing off to the side, clasped her hands together near her cheek, a soft happy sigh escaping her lips. Her nonexistent eyes glistened with something you couldn’t quite place—was it satisfaction, or something else? She seemed to understand, her gaze softening as she observed the way you were with him. Perhaps it was a quiet affirmation of what she had hoped for all along, or maybe it was simply a moment of understanding. Whatever it was, you could see it in her eyes as she quietly came to a decision.

My work here is done, she must have thought, because she slowly backed away, her figure fading into the background as you and mr. crawling took the next step forward, toward something new.

You felt a deep, unexpected gratitude welling up inside you. It wasn’t just for mr. crawling, or for ms. bride—it was for everyone who had been part of this twisted, chaotic experience. Even the ones who had hurt you, even the ones who had pushed you to the edge of your sanity—they were part of your story. You could never forget that. You would always carry the lessons they had taught you, even if they weren’t always kind. But most of all, you felt thankful for the one person who had stayed by your side when everything had fallen apart; Mr. Crawling.

—ch.6

➤ e n d

“Mr. Crawling”

.

.

.

I watched them enter the elevator, watched her beautiful smile as she looked at him the same way she used to look at me before all this. That familiar, tender smile, the one that used to be reserved for me. I could feel my chest tighten as the sight of it hit me like a blade to the heart.

I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that damn bride.

She was so happy. I saw it clearly in her eyes, and it stung more than I had anticipated. I wanted to snatch her away from him right then, pull her back to my side where she belonged. But… who was I to intervene? It was her choice. This was her happiness, even if it wasn’t with me.

Is this love? I asked myself quietly, almost mockingly. I had brought her into my world, given her everything, and now, I had to watch her walk away with him.

She didn’t even look back at me, not even once. The thought of it—it killed me.

I had brought her into my world just for her to pick somebody else. Why wasn’t it me? What was it about him that I didn’t have? What was it that he could offer her that I couldn’t? My thoughts swirled in a dark haze of jealousy and frustration. It wasn’t fair.

She had confessed her love to me once, didn’t she? I remembered it clearly. She had thrown herself into my arms, professing how much she loved me. She even sacrificed so many lives for me—for us. Didn’t that mean something? Didn’t that prove how deep her feelings for me ran? She even took my umbrella, did that really mean nothing to her? Has she betrayed me this coldly?

I had convinced myself that it wasn’t a fantasy, that it wasn’t something I’d made up in my head. She had loved me. I knew she did. She had to. It couldn’t have been anything else.

But watching her with him, seeing how she looked at him…

… and how it wasn’t me.

[judesmoonbeauty]

Black Wedding: The True Vow For A Jet-Black Bride - Victor

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. What I obtain is what will be translated. If other blogs have translated the stories before I do, I will notate their blogs. Thank you, for you support! ☾.

I had a secret longing for a wedding.

Many may have dreamed of being blessed by many people and wearing a pure white wedding dress as you make vows of eternity.

(I was one of them.)

The peak of happiness dreamed of as a child does not always come true in the same form.

An old church that is no longer in use.

The candlelight flickers and illuminates the interior, which is as good as abandoned.

I slowly raised my eyes and saw through the veil my beloved who was standing at the altar.

Kate: Victor.

He looked at me happily as I stepped forward to meet him as quickly as I could, but -

Victor: Take your time, it’s okay, just be careful.

Struggling with the unfamiliar dress, I approached him step by step.

The dress is the exact opposite of what he longed for, the color of night, just like his hair.

When I came to a halt and faced him, Victor gave a soft laugh.

Victor: William has cleared the place, so no one will come here.

A wedding ceremony for just two people in an abandoned church in the middle of night, with not a single sign of life.

As I lowered my eyes down in the quiet space, I heard a voice with a mixed with sadness about what I’ve misunderstood.

Victor: Sorry.

Kate: Huh?

Victor: You’re only able to have a ceremony like this.

Kate: Victor, it’s not your fault…..

Victor: No, it’s my fault that you’re here, not clad in pure white, smiling with the blessings of so many.

Victor: It’s no one else’s fault…..but mine.

I grip his hand tightly as he lets out a depressed sigh.

Kate: When I was a child, I always wanted to go to a wedding.

Kate: I thought that the moment I wore a pure white dress, and was celebrated by many people must be a happy one.

Seeing him slightly shaken, I continued to speak.

Kate: But, now I like this better.

Kate: If there were a lot of people around, I might be too nervous to do this.

Kate: I’d rather wear a dress the same color as your hair than pure white.

Victor narrows his eyes as his gaze meets mine through the veil.

Kate: I don’t care where I am. You’re more than enough for me.

He blinked several time, smiled softly and then lifted the veil.

Victor: Kate?

Kate: Yes.

Victor: I……I am the man who will take away your freedom and make you unhappy.

Victor: After this, I will continue to make you feel uncomfortable .

Kate: That’s not true.

Victor: But,

He interrupts me, and I’m so struck by what he says, so I instinctively close my mouth.

Victor: The choice to let you go no longer exists in me.

The strong words pierced my heart and brought joy to my whole body.

Then he fits the silver piece he took from his pocket onto my left ring finger and drops his lips there.

Victor: I don’t swear to God, I swear to you.

The kiss, like a knight’s vow of loyalty, was something like out of a painting,

It makes me feel like I’m a princess of some country.

(But that’s not the reality.)

Because our vow is much heavier than that of a knight who swears loyalty.

Victor: I love you, Kate.

He removes his lips from my ring finger, takes my hand and places it on his left breast.

Then he puts his hand on my left breast in the same way.

(I can hear your heartbeat…..)

Our slight beats of our hearts is evidence that we are here,

Victor: Even if death snatches us away and our bodies rot, please let us live in hell together.

Kate: ….Yes. I vow to live with you even after death.

When I closed my eyes, I could sense each other’s heartbeats more strongly.

Kate: Because I want to be with you, even if it means destruction.

A vow that no one can touch, it’s ours alone.

Even if my heart stops beating, I will walk the path to hell with him.

(But as long as Victor is there, I don’t care if I end up in hell.)

Because I can truly say, that’s it is much better than being in heaven with out him.

The hand that’d been resting on my heart, now slides to my cheek.

Victor: …Even if I lose everything, I won’t let you go.

I look up and wait for his lips.

It was much happier than the wedding I dreamed of as a child.

Their private vow, unknown to anyone else, was sealed forever in the British night.

[Black Wedding Master List] Tag list: @theimaginativelyreticent

Screams: VIVIIIIIIIIIII! Mildly tempted to do another story dissection like Jude's wedding story.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Can I request Dancer!reader who wants to dance with the Toymaker? Pls & thank youu

yes you absolutely can! I wrote headcanons instead of a full fic because those are always a bit easier for me (these are longer than I originally planned because of how much I got into it lol)

The Toymaker losing a game to a reader who wants to dance with him

Warnings: only brief descriptions of the actual dancing because I suck at it and therefore don't know how to describe it properly (sorry), The Toymaker is really sweet and honestly a simp, plus the ending is really sappy because I'm such a sucker for that kind of stuff

Like most unsuspecting mortals, you didn't expect much when you first stumbled into The Toymaker's shop, though you were pleasantly surprised when you saw just how attractive the keeper of the shop was

While he was going on and on about how foolish you were and how you weren't allowed to leave his realm until you beat him at a game, you were focused on thinking about just how fun it would be to dance with him

You wondered what type of dance would suit him best. The tango? Nah, too flashy. Slow dancing? He didn't look like he could calm down and stay in one place long enough to do it properly. Perhaps something else...?

The sound of someone clearing their throat cut through your thoughts, and you realized he'd stopped talking once he noticed you weren't paying attention to him

"Did you even hear anything that I just said?" He grumbled with his arms crossed, looking like a pouty child

You held back a laugh while nodding your head. "Yeah, yeah, I have to play a game with you, and if I lose I stay here forever. But what happens if I win?"

The grouchy look dropped from his face when you spoke, pleased that you'd at least heard the basics. "You won't. No one ever beats me," he said smugly

"But if I do? What then?" You further pressed, not willing to let go of the topic so easily

The Toymaker huffed, rolling his eyes at you. "If you win, then you get your freedom. That's it"

"Really? That sounds so... boring," you responded with an unimpressed look on your face

He let out a sigh of exasperation while rubbing at his temple. "Fine, fine. What do you want if you win?" He asked through gritted teeth, not used to players who were so unbearably annoying. Arrogant and overconfident, sure, but none with a personality like yours

Your eyes lit up at his question, and you answered immediately. "I want to dance with you"

"You- what?" He was confused, for sure. Out of anything you could ask him for, you chose that?

"I want to dance with you," you repeated, unyielding in your response. "If you win, I stay here forever, but if I win, I get one dance with you of my choice." You extended your hand for him to shake. "Deal?"

The Toymaker thought it over before taking your hand, a sinister grin on his face as he accepted. "Deal. Though I should have you know, no one has ever beaten me before"

"Well, there's a first time for everything," you quipped back, flashing him a mischievous smile of your own

He narrowed his eyes at you as he took his hand back, now determined more than ever to beat you. Unfortunately for him, he didn't. Somehow you'd gotten into his head, and he wasn't as alert as he'd usually be

He thought he'd be angry upon losing, but for some reason he felt oddly giddy. The thought of getting to dance with you had permeated his thoughts and made it difficult for him to focus on anything else, hence one of the reasons why he lost

"I win!" You triumphantly announced for the third time in a row, something that would usually make The Toymaker want to destroy everything in sight, but since it was coming from you he just didn't have the heart

He merely sighed and nodded his head in agreement. "Yes, yes, you win. Now, what type of dance did you want to do?"

"Hmm..." That was a good question. You hadn't given it much thought since the deal had been made, but then it suddenly hit you. "Let's waltz! You know how to waltz, right?"

He scoffed, looking slightly offended. "Yes, of course I know how to waltz. What a ridiculous question to ask"

"Great! Now, we just need a place to-" With a snap of his fingers, the toyshop suddenly transformed, an elegant ballroom in the middle of it while the shop remained on the outside. And it all happened before you could even finish your sentence. "-dance. That works, I guess"

He tried not to show it, but The Toymaker was nervous, a character trait that he was unfamiliar with, no matter how often he caused (and even relished) it when it appeared in other people

He thought it would be best if he let you take the lead, seeing as you clearly knew more about the subject than he did. As nonchalant as he tried to be, he still couldn't help the blush that formed on his face when he felt you take his hands in yours and start to guide him around the room

He was embarrassed anytime he bumped into you or accidentally stepped on your feet, but when you just laughed it off and told him there was no reason to apologize he felt his heart soar

He wasn't sure how long the two of you stayed like that, moving around the room as you danced in (almost) perfect harmony, but he knew the disappointment he felt when it was finally time for you to go

"Well, that was certainly a lot of fun." Even though you were a little tired from all the dancing you'd done, you had a bright smile on your face, an indicator that you'd enjoyed yourself

"Yes, yes it was." It didn't take a genius to realize The Toymaker seemed more than just a little upset when he saw you were going to leave, even though he was trying to act like it wasn't bothering him

"I can come back to visit you, if you want," you offered softly, not missing the way his eyes seemed to light up at your words. "We can do some more dancing, or we can just talk. I wouldn't mind getting to hang out with you"

He was speechless, something that didn't happen often. You actually wanted to spend time with him, willingly? He wouldn't have to trap or trick you?

You continued when he didn't say anything. "I have to go, but I'll come back in tomorrow, okay?" Before he could react, you leaned in and gave him a soft kiss. "Bye," you said with a wave as you turned and left his shop

Even if he didn't win the game, that didn't matter to him, because he got something even better; your affection. And the kiss you gave him at the end was, in his opinion, the greatest prize of all

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated<3

Main masterlist | Doctor Who masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

🏷 taglist: @theonetruepotato87 @sessa23

[ladyloveandjustice]

Hungry Kisses and No Regrets

Decided to channel my stress into finally writing the Kiki/Namari fic. This is post-series, and has slight references to unofficially translated post series material.

Namari stared into her tankard, watching the beer’s foam drop down the sides. The tavern was full of lively chatter, loud toasts, whooping and yelling…normally she would be right in the thick of it. But right now it was all distant, muffled, nothing but a meaningless buzzing.

  Then a smooth voice cut through that noise. “You’ve had that booze for a whole minute and the glass is still full. Something must be wrong”.

   Kiki was towering over her. Namari turned slowly, her eyes traveling up those long, shapely legs, from the perfect curve of her calves all the way up to her well toned thighs. Namari’s breath hitched and the back of her neck heated up. She focused instead on Kiki’s face, like she should have done from the beginning, but that only made her heart race more. Kiki had her hair down, a rarity, and it fell in beautiful black coils, slightly wavy at the ends. Kiki looked down at her with bright warm eyes and a mischievous smirk (she’d probably noticed Namari checking out her legs). As always, it melted all of Namari’s defenses.

“I’m just…lost in thought.”

Kiki sat across from her, resting her chin on steepled hands. “Want to talk about it?”

Weirdly, she did. When it was with Kiki, she could talk about anything.

“It’s…Falin.”

Kiki raised her eyebrows. “Did she get turned into a monster again?”

“No! It’s…well,I told you now that my father’s debt is almost paid off, I want to strike out and set up a blacksmithing business right?”

Kiki nodded.

Namari took a small sip of beer and sighed.

“Well, Falin’s recovery is taking…longer than expected. She’s having a little bit of trouble adjusting to her new body. She doesn’t have a lot of stamina and gets exhausted easily, Marcille says she’s been restless at night, growling and snarling and having weird dreams. Even Marcille has a hard time shaking her out of them. I know Falin was planning to travel, to get to know her new self and see new places, and it must be so frustrating…so I don’t think I can leave until she gets better.”

Kiki wrinkled her brow. “Why? It doesn’t sound life threatening. She has her brother and Marcille taking care of her, right? And Chilchuck and Senshi are sticking around a bit longer too. I’m sure she’ll get well soon."

“I know, but… it’s hard to see Falin like this. She’s usually so warm and full of life, you know? She could make anyone feel better just by being there. It’s easy to see why Marcille and Shuro fell for her…”

Kiki’s eyes narrowed. Was that…jealousy?

“Not that I ever had any feelings for her, I’m just saying she’s always been so strong and kind,” Namari amended hastily. “So it’s hard to see her so listless. …And I feel like I should…well, if she can’t travel right now, I shouldn’t get to go gallivanting off somewhere.”

“You’re acting like you’re responsible for her. Are you feeling guilty about leaving?”

Kiki sure cut to the quick. "I don’t regret my choice," Namari said forcefully. "I did what I had to do. But.. I wonder sometimes. If I had been there, would they have been able to get to the dragon before it digested her? Would it have saved her from going through all that hell? Seeing what happened to her, how she’s struggling now, it rattled me. I wonder if she resents me."

Namari lowered her eyes, drawing a circle in the condensation on the table with her index finger. She couldn't look st Kiki. The last thing she wanted to see was her pity.

            “From the brief time I met her—and from how you all describe her—it doesn’t seem like she’d resent you.” Kiki’s voice was the same as ever, a ripple in a calm lake. Namari looked at her and saw her expression wasn’t pitying or annoyed. She just looked like she was mulling it all over.

            “No…none of them seen to resent me, even Marcille. But still…Falin knows I abandoned her. She might understand and accept it, but I wonder if it hurts her, deep down…” She trailed off. She new she was being pathetic she was being pathetic,

            Kiki studied Namari's face, her eyes searching

“Remember when Kaka and I told you about how our clan abandoned us at an inn when we were children?”

Namari blinked at the sudden topic change, but said, “Yes, of course”

            “Kaka resents them for that. But I don’t. I’m honestly grateful.”   

            “Huh?”  As always, Namari couldn’t figure out if Kiki was joking or not.

            Kiki’s mouth quirked and she tilted her head. A bit of hair fell over her eye in a way that made Namari's heart flutter.

            “I remembered how they looked, their cheeks hollowed, their eyes sunken. They were starving, yet they always tried to give Kaka and me a good meal. So I was grateful that they left us. If they hadn’t, I would have had to watch them suffer, watch them die. I hated being a burden.” Kiki’s smiled disappeared, and Namari saw her hands shake ever so slightly against the table. She wanted so badly to reach out and hold that hand, to tell her it was all okay. But she knew Kiki wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted.

            Kiki breathed in deeply. “But by leaving us at the inn, they gave us a chance. A chance for something better. Because they did that, I had a chance to meet Grandma and Grandpa. And that’s what I’m the most grateful for.” Her expression softened, the warmth returning to her face.

            Namari smiled. She loved how Kiki looked at even the darkest moments with love and empathy. It made her want to let go of her cynicism.

`           ”So,” Kika said, tossing her hair. “If Falin’s really the person you say she is, I’m sure she feels the same way. She’s grateful that you didn’t drown in debt for her sake, she’s grateful she didn’t didn't have to see you suffer and lose everything for her. She doesn’t want to be your burden.”

Namari’s eyes burned. Falin had said something like that—“I’m so glad you were able to find such a great party to work for, Namari. You seem so happy! And you helped my brother and the rest a lot, from what I hear! Thank you!"But Namari had been sure she was just forcing her real feelings down. But hearing it from Kiki…for some reason, that made her believe it.

“And also…” Kiki leaned forward, her face so close to Namari’s that her hot breath tickled Namari’s nose. “I’m personally very grateful you left the party. Because that’s how I got to meet you. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Namari swallowed. She was sure her face was as red as a tomato. But she wasn’t going to let that stop her. It was time to say it.

“There’s actually another reason I’ve been procrastinating on leaving. It’s…because I don’t want to leave you behind.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Kiki said casually. “I’ve decided to leave the family business and strike out on my own. And I’d love to travel with you.”

“You…what?’

“I’ve been thinking of it for a while and talking about it with the family. I told them all yesterday. I want to try new things, see what I can do on my own. Kaka’s going to stay with them, he’s never been interested leaving out grandparents. It’s going to be…really hard being separated from him. We’ve been together our whole lives. But I think that’s why I need to do this.I want to find out who I am without him. Take my own path. Grandpa and Grandma were very supportive. I’ll miss all of them, but it’s not like I can’t visit…”

All of this tumbled out of Kiki’s mouth in a rush, so it took a second for Namari to process it. But when she finally did, her heart burst with joy. Her face lit up with what she was sure was the dopiest smile, but she did her best to keep her voice even.

“Do you know what you want to do?”

“I did a short apprenticeship of a trading company when I was younger, and I loved meeting different people from all over, so maybe that. But one thing I really want to do is…be by your side at least a little bit longer.” She looked down nervously, eyelashes fluttering.

Namari reached out and took Kiki’s hand at last. It was soft and smooth, so much smaller than hers, but still strong. “I want that too,” Namari murmured. “And I also want to kiss you until you’re as dizzy as I am.”

At that invitation, Kiki threw herself across the table. She barely avoided knocking Namari’s beer over as she swung her legs around to sit on her lap. Namari put her arms around her, she bent down, and they kissed hungrily, ceaselessly, with bottomless desire. Kiki tugged at Namari's wrist and Namari gladly accepted the invitation, running her hand greedily up Kiki's thigh, feeling the strong muscle underneath, gripping it harder as their kiss deepened.

Whoops and cheers explored around them. When they finally separated, they saw several tavern patrons were watching them. And the table was a little wobbly. Oops.

“Let’s get out of here before we break something. We can do that in my bedroom instead.” Namari murmured.

“Sounds good. And if we stop by my house first, I can bring some leg pouches to put on in front of you,” Kiki teased.

“You really are the perfect woman,” Namari breathed, trembling with anticipation.

So they walked off arm and arm into the night, Namari leaving behind her worries and fears. There was no point in looking back anymore. She and Kiki had just started a new journey together.

[denial-permanente]

I know Tom uses the Vixskin Ranger. How was the process of narrowing it down to that brand and size?

My husband is the one who does the research. He bought a few different ones both realistic looking and... umm... weird bulby looking I guess. Some of them smelled like plastic. They looked funny. Nothing was especially wonderful. I don't know how he found the Vixskin. It was pretty expensive compared to the others. But it did t smell like plastic and it looked a lot like him so that made it feel okay both in me and in my own mind.

🔒 Tom here. I was pretty active in online "alternative" communities, and ran across reviews of the company Vixen Creations before they came out with the Vixskin line. I actually purchased an early model (the Boytoy, IIRC) from Blowfish, a now defunct online site. We used that for several years, and when VC introduced their Vixskin line, I bought the Tex - a copy of the early one, but with a more realistic outer layer of softer silicone.

I picked the Tex (and the earlier one) because it really did resemble my natural equipment in both size and shape. At the time, permanent lockup was just a fun fantasy, not something we really expected, and I admit that I felt a little nervous about going to a bigger model.

@mrs--edge took to the Tex right from the start, and my lockups - already weeks long - quickly turned into months long. So, there's a testament to how realistic it felt.

We used the Tex for at least ten years, maybe longer. In 2018, when we started this last lock up period, we had no idea it was going to turn out this way. After four years, and some assurances on both sides that we could go on permanently, I broached the idea of going to a larger size. The Ranger is only slightly longer than the Tex, but definitely thicker, especially the head, with a similar shape and proportions. We looked at them together and she thought that it was about the largest she would want to go.

I figured that it might be the last one we bought, so I went for the upgrade to the X - which adds a third layer of even softer silicone. This turned out to be the correct choice. After a week or two she declared that I could get all the other ones and toss them out; the Ranger X was her new favorite.

[vixstarria]

Kinktober Day 20 - Sex pollen / potion / curse

For every day of the month of October I will be posting a little snippet following prompts listed in this post. Most of these will not be full fics, but rather short snippets, set-ups, and, in a few cases, copied bits and pieces of fics I have already published. But, if there is a lot of interest and feedback on any of the snippets, they might just evolve into full fics, so keep that in mind.

Merely a week had passed since a mistake of one of Gale’s students had temporarily transformed his body to that of the opposite sex, when he once again appeared at the Spotted Dick, in flustered agitation.

"I need a stiff drink," he said as soon as he entered the tavern. "I mean, a hard one. ...I mean strong! Yes, strong. A strong one," he stammered.

"Trouble with your sorcerer student again?" Asmodea asked from behind the bar, reaching for a bottle to pour him a drink. Having overheard Gale's entrance, Astarion also appeared from the depths of the tavern.

"I have to resign as their tutor, I cannot endure this any longer," he complained. "This time, the scope of their blunder is more narrow, but even more disastrous."

"What is it this time? Has it... disappeared, or inverted itself?" Astarion asked, gesturing at Gale's nether regions.

"Worse," he responded, his expression darkening. "It will not wane."

"Won't w-" Astarion snickered. "Surely you know what to do with that?"

"I've tried all the most obvious solutions! And yes, I’ve already… discharged it, twice."

"So tuck it away and ignore it, it'll come down sooner or later. It's hardly a catastrophe - a small problem at best."

"It is at least an average-sized problem, thank you," Gale said with scorn. "And it’s pulsating! I cannot ignore it!"

Asmodea and Astarion exchanged a look.

"He needs a hand," said Asmodea.

"Does it have to always be my hand?" Astarion scoffed.

"Oh come on, what's it to you? Go help him!"

"I suppose I do possess a certain skill set," he rolled his eyes. “Fine! Follow me," said Astarion, beckoning Gale.

"You cannot be serious," said Gale.

"I said, follow me!" Astarion repeated, disappearing into the pantry. Gale had no choice but to follow.

A few minutes later Astarion emerged back in the common room, followed by a scarlet-faced Gale.

"Three parts hawthorn berry to two parts dried valerian root. Steep for 10 minutes. Should take care of your 'average-sized' problem."

"Yes… A herbal remedy. Of course," said Gale appearing even more flustered than he had been when he first entered.

"Of course," Astarion repeated, handing him a small satchel with the herbs he had gathered from his alchemical supplies. "…What in the hells else did you think I was going to provide you?"

"…Oh no, I expected nothing else. …Thank you."

With those words, the wizard took the satchel and fled the tavern.

"...What idea should we give his student next?" asked Asmodea, no longer able to contain a wide grin.

"Have you ever heard of the dancing plague?"

My Kinktober masterlist and prompts post

[yoomiwrites]

Salty Rush³

Summary: Some time ago, Reader was a partner of Akainu, a comrade he could rely on. Reader betrayed the navy, became part of a pirate crew...And finally the two face each other again.

Note: Just like Kuzan's story, you'll get the next chapter either next friday or after 20 reactions. I'm REALLY surprised that this story even beat Kuzan's reactions! Glad to see that our lil magma boi got some love. Anyways! This was supposed to be TWO chapters but I put it in one. Why? Well, who knows! I wanted to give a glimpse into his feelings, a bit more into their past.

Hours passed. Or maybe it was just minutes. Down here, time felt like an illusion, stretched thin by the endless darkness that surrounded us. The only sound was the occasional drip of water echoing through the cavern, punctuated by the distant groan of the earth shifting somewhere far below.

Sakazuki and I had been walking for what felt like an eternity, and every step we took seemed to lead us deeper into the labyrinth of stone. We hadn’t spoken since the tremors, not that I expected him to say much. His presence loomed beside me, a constant reminder of how far we’d fallen—not just into this dark place but from the bond we once shared. I could feel the tension radiating from him, but he refused to acknowledge me.

I couldn't blame him. I had made my choice, and in his eyes, that had been a betrayal.

The path grew narrower, the walls closing in on us like the tightening grip of a fist. My stomach twisted, not just from hunger but from the oppressive feeling that we were trapped. Lost. Every passage we took seemed to lead us deeper into the earth, further from the surface.

The hope that we might find an exit was slipping away with each step.

“We can’t keep going like this,” I muttered under my breath, half to myself. My throat was dry, and I could feel the exhaustion creeping into my bones. My whole body hurt. More than I wanted to admit. Wounds made walking difficult. We hadn’t eaten since the battle on the surface. How much longer could we last without food? Without rest?

Sakazuki, of course, didn’t respond. His jaw was set in that stubborn way I knew so well, his eyes fixed ahead, as if sheer force of will alone could get us out of here.

I clenched my fists, trying to suppress the frustration bubbling up inside me. I wasn’t a rookie. I knew how to survive, but this wasn’t a battlefield. This was something else entirely—a test of endurance, of willpower.

We walked for a while longer, the silence thick between us, until finally, the narrow path opened into another chamber, larger than the last. A sliver of light pierced through a crack high in the ceiling, illuminating the jagged rocks below. For a moment, I felt a flicker of hope, but it was quickly dashed when I realized the crack was far too small for either of us to climb through.

I exhaled sharply, leaning against the wall to catch my breath. My legs were aching, and the constant feeling of being trapped in this place was starting to wear on me. I could see it in Sakazuki too—the stiffness in his movements, the tightness in his expression. He might be hiding it, but he was just as exhausted as I was.

“We’re not going to find a way out like this,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, though frustration seeped through. “We’ve been going in circles.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his back still to me as he surveyed the chamber. I half-expected him to ignore me, as he had been doing for hours, but then he spoke, his voice low and gruff.

“Keep moving. There’s always a way out.”

I scoffed, though I didn’t mean to. His blind determination was infuriating, especially in a situation as dire as this. “What if there isn’t?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “What if we’re stuck down here, Sakazuki? No food, no water. We’ll starve before we even—”

“Enough.” His voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and final. He turned to face me, his eyes dark, full of the anger he’d been holding back. “I won’t hear you giving up.”

“I’m not giving up!” I shot back, my own frustration boiling over. “I’m being realistic. We don’t even know how deep we are. We could be trapped down here for days, weeks—and you’re acting like we can just keep walking until we magically find a way out. That’s not how this works!”

Sakazuki’s expression hardened, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out. But instead, he stayed silent, his gaze flickering with something I couldn’t quite place. Resentment? Or was it something deeper, something more personal?

He turned away again, the tension between us settling into a familiar pattern. We’d always been like this—pushing, pulling, both too stubborn to back down. But back then, there had been a mutual respect beneath the surface. Now? Now it felt like I was standing at the edge of a chasm, with no way to bridge the gap between us.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. “Sakazuki, this silence isn’t helping either of us. We’re stuck here, together, whether you like it or not.”

He didn’t respond, but I could see the slight clench of his jaw, the only indication that my words had hit their mark.

“I left because I couldn’t stand what the Marines had become,” I continued, unable to stop myself now that the dam had broken. “I didn’t leave to betray you. You know that. You—of all people—should know why I couldn’t stay.”

For a moment, I thought he might walk away again, but then, to my surprise, he spoke, his voice low and gravelly, like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “You abandoned your duty.”

The words stung, more than I wanted to admit. But there was something beneath them, a layer of hurt that he was trying to hide. It was the first crack I’d seen in his armor since we’d fallen into this place.

“I didn’t abandon it,” I said softly, stepping closer, though I wasn’t sure he would tolerate it. “I walked away because I believed in something more than blind justice. You and I… we weren’t so different once.”

He didn’t reply immediately. His back was still to me, but I could see the way his shoulders tensed. He was holding something back.

For a long moment, the silence between us stretched thin, fragile, until finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You were a good Marine.” The words were flat, but there was something underneath them, an unspoken truth I wasn’t sure I wanted to face. “One of the best.”

I swallowed, feeling the weight of his words. There was a time when that praise would’ve meant everything to me—when I had looked up to him, strived to be like him. But that time was long gone.

“And yet I still wasn’t enough,” I muttered, half to myself. “Not for you. Not for the Marines.”

His silence was answer enough. I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting—a sign, a hint of understanding? But Sakazuki was a wall of stone, as immovable and unyielding as ever. I could scream all my frustrations into the void, but nothing would change the fact that he saw the world through a lens I could never understand.

Still, something about his words lingered. Acknowledgment. As if, in his own twisted way, he had once held me in high regard.

But now? Now, I was just another traitor in his eyes.

“I trusted you,” he finally said, his voice so quiet I almost missed it.

I felt a pang in my chest, the weight of his admission sinking deep. There it was—just a hint of the betrayal he had felt when I left. It wasn’t about me being a traitor to the Marines. It was about me walking away from him.

And suddenly, I realized that it wasn’t just duty he was clinging to. It was the idea of what we had once been. Partners. Allies. Maybe something more, though neither of us had ever admitted it.

But now, that bond was fractured beyond repair.

I took a step back. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, like the walls were closing in on us. For all his strength, for all his conviction, I could see now that Sakazuki was just as lost as I was. And that scared me more than the thought of being trapped down here forever.

Because if even he couldn’t find a way out—if even he was faltering—then what hope did we have?

The darkness pressed in, and the reality of our situation settled like a stone in my gut. We might never make it out of here. And even if we did, there was no going back to what we once were.

We were trapped, not just by the stone walls around us, but by the choices we had made, by the gulf between us that seemed too wide to cross.

And I wasn’t sure which would consume us first—the darkness of the cavern or the shadows of our past.

Third person pov.

Sakazuki’s eyes lingered on Y/N as they turned away, tension still thick in the air. He hadn't meant to say it. He hadn’t meant to let those words slip out. “I trusted you.” It was the first crack in the armor he had spent so many years fortifying, the first admission of the betrayal that had festered inside him.

He stood in the silence of the cavern, the damp, cold air seeping into his bones. And for the first time in years, his mind betrayed him, dragging him back to a time he had long since tried to forget. The days when Y/N had stood beside him, not as a traitor but as a comrade. No—more than that. He had never been able to admit it to himself, but they had been more than comrades, more than mere partners.

There had been something between them, something dangerous and unspoken. A fire that burned, even beneath his rigid adherence to duty.

It had been years ago, when they were younger, training together, pushing each other harder with every session. Y/N had been the only one who could keep up with him, the only one who understood the relentless drive inside him. They had shared more than just the battlefield; they had shared their ambitions, their frustrations, their moments of exhaustion when the world felt like too much.

And through it all, he had felt something. Something he didn’t allow himself to name. Affection was too soft a word for what had grown inside him, but there was a time when he had looked at Y/N and thought—

No. I loved them.

The truth of it was sharp and bitter, like a knife twisted deep inside him. He had been young then, a boy still wrestling with the ideals of justice and the suffocating weight of the world he would one day carry on his shoulders. He had loved Y/N. Their smile, the fire in their eyes, their reckless bravery. He remembered the way they challenged him, the way they pushed him to be better, faster, stronger. But more than anything, he remembered how easily they could make him laugh, a rare sound from someone like him.

It was a boy’s love, he knew that now. A naive, foolish thing. A love born of camaraderie and closeness, not from understanding the depths of duty and sacrifice. But it had been real. It had been potent, even if he had never allowed it to bloom.

And it had been doomed from the start.

Because for Sakazuki, duty had always been more important. Duty was what defined him, what he had been molded for. His love for Y/N had been dangerous, a distraction from the path he knew he had to walk. So he buried it, deep beneath the surface, behind the walls he erected to shield himself from anything that might weaken his resolve.

But the betrayal—their betrayal—had shattered whatever remnants of that love remained.

He clenched his fists, feeling the familiar heat rising inside him. Not from his magma, but from something colder, darker—rage. It wasn’t just that Y/N had left. It wasn’t just that they had abandoned the Marines, abandoned him. It was that they had made him doubt.

Because he understood. He had understood what they meant when they spoke of the cracks in the system. He had seen the corruption, the cruelty, the innocent lives caught in the wake of their so-called justice. Sakazuki wasn’t blind.

But it didn’t matter.

It couldn’t matter.

Justice demands sacrifice. That was the truth he lived by. That was the truth that had shaped him into the man he was now. He couldn’t allow himself to question it, couldn’t allow himself to falter, no matter the cost. To do so would mean betraying everything he stood for. Everything he had built.

Y/N had wavered. They had turned their back on the cause. And for that, they were no longer an ally. They were no longer anything.

A cold, bitter thought took root in his mind, and it chilled him more than the damp air around them: Once we get out of here, I will have to kill them.

He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. There was no other path. Y/N was a traitor, an enemy of the state. Even if they had been right about some things, even if the system was flawed, they had made their choice. And Sakazuki… he had to make his.

It was his duty.

Yet, despite that certainty, he felt something hollow settle inside his chest, a heaviness that hadn’t been there before.

He hadn’t just lost a comrade. He had lost them. The one person who had seen him not as a weapon, but as a man. The one person who had made him feel… human. And now, that connection was severed, torn apart by the choices they had made. By the choices he had made.

But there was no room for sentiment. There never had been. He had learned long ago that sentiment only led to weakness, and weakness could not be tolerated. Not in his line of work. Not in the pursuit of true justice.

Sakazuki’s eyes narrowed as he stared into the darkness, his jaw clenched. His heart may have faltered, but his mind was unyielding. He couldn’t allow himself to waver, not now. Not when the stakes were this high.

Once they escaped this cursed place, he would do what needed to be done. He would finish what Y/N had started the day they walked away from him. The day they walked away from everything they had fought for.

He would end it.

But beneath that resolve, in the deepest, darkest corners of his heart, something twisted. A quiet, insidious whisper that he couldn’t silence.

You loved them.

It was a truth he would never admit, not even to himself. But it was there, lurking beneath the surface, ready to tear him apart from the inside. Because even as he steeled himself for what must come next, even as he convinced himself that justice was the only path, the thought of facing Y/N again—truly facing them—terrified him.

Because he knew that when the moment came, when he stood before them with the weight of the world on his shoulders and the full force of his power at his fingertips, he wouldn’t see a traitor.

He would see them. The person he had once loved.

And he wasn’t sure, for the first time in his life, if he would be strong enough to do his duty.

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

I’m officially logged out of the @sicktember blog and no longer serving as an admin.

It feels-- nice, relieving, and admittedly a bit sad.

Working with @obsessionoftheday to create and co-run this event was a true pleasure. Narrowing down the prompt lists together was my favorite part. I loved ensuring we had prompts that catered to all kinds of fandoms. Answering prompt clarification questions and suggesting creative ways to interpret the prompts was a huge highlight for me. Watching the collection numbers grow and reading all the tags on the various Sicktember posts will be things I miss deeply.

What I won't miss is the hectic scramble that follows the prompt selection process—the mad dash to double-check our choices to ensure none of the prompts are too similar to one another, comparing the new list with past ones to avoid repeats, and quickly updating the graphic for posting by the promised date. We may have stumbled a bit with the text prompts matching the graphic this year, but we made it work despite our busy lives. I consider that a win!

I also won’t miss the guilt that came from not checking the inbox often enough, not responding to asks quickly enough, or failing to meet everyone’s expectations.

And I certainly will not miss, the occasional negative, passive-aggressive, and downright angry interactions we've been subjected to over the years. Those were especially hard because my General Anxiety Disorder makes confrontations like those, particularly distressing. But if running this event has taught me anything, it's how to prioritize my mental health by minimizing conversations with difficult individuals. Even if there is so much I want to say! Knowing when to back off is a skill I can admit took me longer to learn than I’d like.

All of that being said, creating and co-managing Sicktember has been an incredible learning experience that connected me with a amazing community of writers. It has inspired my own writing and sparked so many creative ideas.

If my life weren't so chaotic, stressful, and overwhelmingly busy, I would have loved to continue moderating the event. However, I have complete faith that @itsmechara426 will guide Sicktember in a positive direction.

Thanks to all of my followers and mutuals for your abundant support! I can't wait for next years event. Participating solely as a creator and not a curator will be a brand-new experience!

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Ikemen Sengoku - Kicho

These translations are not intended as a replacement for the game. Please support Cybird by buying their stories. Expect grammatical errors.

TW: Slightly Suggestive

Mai: “Masamune!?”

Masamune: “I heard about the incident in town.”

Masamune: “If Kicho finds out I’m here, it could cause a lot of trouble. Can you let me in quietly?”

Mai: “Okay. Wait a sec!”

I tied the rope I found in the room to a sturdy post and threw it out the window.

I then helped Masamune climb the wall and led him to the sofa in the room.

Masamune: “Things are getting pretty crazy, huh?”

Mai: “Yeah.”

Masamune stopped by Sakai for official business and came to check on us when he heard the rumors.

Masamune: “I heard from a guard that a maid was actually attacked yesterday.”

Mai: “Yeah. That's why I decided not to work and took a day off.”

I opened up about the work Kicho had assigned me to do, and after listening to what I had to say, Masamune narrowed his eye and smirked.

Masamune: “Is Kicho that desperate to lock you in a room?”

Mai: “N-Now’s not the time to focus on that.”

I naturally slumped my shoulders, feeling both embarrassed and perplexed.

Masamune: “So, what do you want to do?”

Mai: “Me?”

Masamune: “Setting aside Kicho’s intentions, what do you want to do about the current situation?”

Masamune asked me seriously, and my heart skipped a beat.

(I haven’t really thought about what I want for myself.)

(I’m scared and anxious, but more than that, I’m worried about Kicho.)

I took a moment to reflect on my feelings and emotions.

Masamune: “It looks like you already have your answer.”

Mai: “Yeah. I...”

(If I don’t leave the room, Kicho will feel relieved.)

(I won’t be next to him if something happens.)

Mai: “I don’t want to stay like this. I need to do something.”

Masamune: “Then it’s settled.”

Masamune: “I’ll be your bodyguard. We’ll find the culprit ourselves.”

Mai: “What!? I thought you were on official business一”

Masamune: “This kind of detour shouldn’t be a problem.”

He stated it so clearly that I had no choice but to agree.

(I’m honestly grateful because I can only do so much on my own.)

(Though Masamune might be in danger if we encounter the culprit.)

Mai: “Why are you helping me?”

Masamune: “I'm worried because you're not smiling.”

Mai: “Thank you.”

Masamune: “Do you know Kicho’s plans for tonight?”

Mai: “He’ll be gone until dawn for a meeting.”

Masamune: “Perfect. In that case, I’ll pick you up again later tonight.”

Masamune: “We’ll go on patrol to see if any suspicious men are lurking around the trading post or in town.”

Mai: “Okay!”

By the time Masamune left the room through the window, the sun had started to set.

As I put away the rope and closed the window, almost simultaneously, the door opened.

Kicho: “Did you hear any noise just now?”

I desperately tried my best not to flinch in surprise.

Mai: “I just shut the window, so I guess that’s what you heard.”

Kicho: “..........”

(What should I do? I feel like he’s getting suspicious!)

(If he finds out about Masamune, he’ll know I’m going out tonight.)

(I need to find a way to cover it up somehow!)

I struggled to come up with a good idea as my anxiety made my thoughts spin in circles. Then he slowly approached me.

Kicho: “Your smell has changed.”

Mai: “What does that mean一Waah!?”

As I stopped and pondered the words he muttered, he suddenly hugged my shoulders.

Mai: “Kicho...?”

Kicho: “I knew it.”

He buried his face in my neck to check my scent, and he immediately pulled away and spoke up.

Kicho: “Who was here? No one in the trading post should have this scent.”

Mai: “That’s...”

I involuntarily stepped back, and he closed the distance between us by two steps.

After a few more times of this exchange, I fell onto the bed.

Mai: “K-Kicho, wait.”

Kicho: “I’m not going to wait any longer than I have to for your safety.”

Mai: “Ah...”

Before I could even get up, he quickly climbed onto the bed and pinned me down.

Kicho: “If you intend to remain silent, there are other ways to make you say it yourself.”

Mai: “No…ah…”

My voice trembled as he stroked my sensitive areas to show he was serious.

When his fingers approached the sensitive spot he knew so well, I hurriedly shook my head.

Mai: "I-It's not like that. Actually..."

Mai: "I got curious about the new perfume, so I sprayed some on myself!"

Kicho: "........."

Mai: "Sorry for using the sample without permission."

(Good thing I saw a sample perfume when I sorted through the documents earlier.)

(I think this is the most acceptable explanation, but will he buy it?)

I looked up at him with a feeling akin to waiting for a verdict.

Kicho: "As long as it's a sample and not an actual product, you can use it however you like."

Kicho: "Let me know if there's a specific scent you like. I'll give it to you as a gift."

Mai: "Thank you."

I felt relieved seeing him looking convinced and relaxed.

He then stroked the corners of my eyes with his fingertips, and his eyes suddenly darkened.

Kicho: "When I look into your eyes, I can't help but think that you might do something reckless."

Mai: “Huh? Ah...”

His fingers sank into my unguarded and unprotected spot, turning my question into a sweet sigh.

Mai: “Wait...ahh...Kicho...”

Kicho: “Mai.”

I became increasingly aroused by his relentless, teasing fingers, and all I could do was cling to him desperately.

Mai: “Mn.”

As night fell, I finally woke up, having fallen asleep due to exhaustion.

(There’s no one here. Kicho probably left for the business meeting already.)

Kicho: “Don’t go anywhere until I return in the morning.”

Kicho’s voice, which I heard just before I fell asleep, came back to me vaguely.

(But it’s almost time to meet with Masamune.)

Mai: “I have to get ready.”

I tried to get up but felt a pulling sensation and ended up sitting back down.

At that moment, I finally realized that my right wrist was bound and tied to the bedpost.

Mai: “No way.”

(The rope is only long enough to reach the edge of the bed.)

(I won’t be able to contact Masamune at this rate. What should I do?)

I tried to untie the rope, but couldn’t even loosen the knot with my left hand alone.

*Clack*

(Hm?)

Suddenly, I heard the window open, and a slight breeze blew into the room.

Hoping it might be Masamune, I looked towards the source of the sound, only to find an unfamiliar man standing there.

Man: "I finally found you. So you're the woman of the head of this trading post, huh?"

Mai: "----!"

He put a sack over my head without even giving me a chance to shout.

(Kicho...)

I called out the name of my beloved in my fading consciousness.

Kicho was on his way to a business meeting when a shadow blocked him.

Kicho: "Masamune."

Masamune: "I know what's going on. And I'm here to ask you what you want to do about it."

Shot through by his one eye reflecting the moonlight, Kicho quietly opened his mouth.

Kicho: "I..."

Part 1┆Part 2┆Premium End┆Epilogue

[whumblr]

Drabble soooo.. jay gets a new job that leads him to spend longer hours with his boss late at night, and it could just be a purely professional relationship (or maybe not if you make it that way), but either way, Zayne is not happy… maybe jay needs a reminder of the importance of coming home on time ?

I just love the sentence Zayne is not happy… maybe jay needs a reminder of the importance of coming home on time ? So much to unpack :3

Anyway, here's how Zayne solves it.

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

-

Random acts of kindness

“Jay…” The honeyed voice was too sweet to be anything but genuine, and didn’t quite cover the danger that lurked underneath. Jay shivered when a hand rested on his shoulder and it lightly pulled, willing him to turn around.

Zayne’s smile was the same as his voice – hinting at the malice about to burst out – and Jay suddenly realised what it meant when someone’s smile didn’t reach their eyes.

“I’m actually quite sure we’ve had this conversation before…” Zayne looked deep into his eyes and then shifted his gaze to the clock on the wall next to him.

“I… yes… but—” Fingers tightened into his shoulder and a fist curled up and slowly pulled back. “No no, wait, hear me out!”

“Oh, I’m all ears. Especially when you throw in some screaming.”

“It’s--!” A blast to his abdomen prevented him from turning his air into an actual excuse. He doubled over, fell back a step before he crashed to his knees. “No…” he forced out, panic quickening his next words when a hand snagged in his shirt pulling him up and he saw another fist on right approach. “It’s not my fault! It’s not my choice!”

The fist stilled. The hand in his shirt twisted, nudging him up.

“It’s…” Jay took a deep breath. “It’s mandatory overtime, okay? Our new boss is a… perfectionist to say it kindly and he’s making that our problem.”

Zayne’s eyes narrowed, looking down on him. “You never had a problem with overtime.”

“Well, I do now. I’m not taking advantage of some nit-picker forcing me to dot all my i’s.”

“What happened to your old boss?”

“Luke’s on paternity leave and this guy is temporarily stepping in from another department. And surprise! That department is working on half strength because half their team is on sick leave and overworked. A relief for them. It just sucks for us. Honestly, I genuinely wish that I could leave at five, for more reasons than just you, but I really can’t.”

Zayne hummed. He let Jay’s shirt fall back down and retreated a step.

“It’s just for another few weeks,” Jay continued. “Please, just cut me some slack here.”

Another hum, this time with a growling lilt. “We’ll see.”

-

A few days later, Jay was happy that Zayne hadn’t been waiting around for him. After gruelling days at work, he really didn’t need torture at night as well. It was a mercy. And a surprise too, really. After Zayne’s parting words, he hadn’t actually expected the guy to cut him some slack… It was a tiny ray of light that he really needed.

Biking up to work, he thought he deserved to start the day on a good note, and he treated himself to his favourite but expensive coffee drink before he entered the office. A little pick me up before Alexander would pull up his latest written article, ground it into the floor with his shoe, and demand a rewrite before EOD.

When he got to his department, he was surprised to find everyone huddled together.

“I don’t know,” he heard as he joined the group. “Could probably take weeks.”

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“Alexander got in a traffic accident.”

“Jesus, is he alright?”

“We think so, but he’s in hospital.”

“It was a hit and run. His wife told us he’s conscious, but that’s about all we know.”

So they’d just have to wait… Jay sipped at his coffee, glancing up over his cup at the group. While they all seemed to be in relative shock, none seemed to be all that… worried. The conversation quickly shifted from concern to their actual work schedule and outright relief that they’d be home on time today. Jay couldn’t help but think the same, even though being home on time was a sensitive subject at the moment.

“Oh,” Terry started as he was scrolling on his phone. “I’m reading here they’re saying he got hit by a motorcycle.”

Jay made a choking sound into his cup as his coffee slipped into his windpipe. He turned away, somewhat glad his coughing gave him an excuse for his wide eyes. He couldn’t make the blood run back into his face, though.

No, no, no, no. Noo, this just had to be a coincidence. But for some reason, he had the very sudden urge to scramble for an excuse for overtime tonight…

“Why does The World know about that before we do?” someone demanded, a little indignant, reading over Terry’s shoulder.

“Because one of their reporters was actually there at the crossing.”

“Figures.”

“Alex would chew us out on that if he were here.”

“Well, as a direct source he’s bloody useless.”

“Bet his blood pressure is rising once he reads this…”

“That’s good, hospital might interpret that wrong and keep him longer.”

“Den, could you write something up? Quickly? And maybe forge the publishing date or something?”

“Yeah,” Dennis turned away, but kept his eyes on Jay. “Jay, help me out.”

“I will,” Jay croaked. “But I’ll organise a little something first for Alex. Flowers? On behalf of the department?”

“Yes, good idea,” people chimed in.

“Get a card too.”

“Oh, that’s sweet, Jay.”

“Yes…” Jay said with a steady smile that didn’t match the guilt in his eyes. “Least I— we can do.”

-

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8 @itsmyworld98

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Hello and sorry for the delay, in regards to the ask I sent in a little while back. What I meant to say was timewise; can you do a drabble where they're (Comicverse A and B) in-between after the Joust incident but before their reconciliation? It would be in the middle of those years where they had a kinda undefined relationship (Not canon but as canon compliant as possible). Could you have it where A maybe takes care of B for an unrelated injury or consoles him thru something mentally? Just something that A does to help B without wanting to gain something from him. Which then that unintentionally builds a little bit of trust back. I hope that helps, sorry if I came across jumbled or made it worse (Lol and my crimes against punctuation). Anyway thank you so much for your time and wanting to clarify w me! I appreciate you so much :)

Hiii!! Thank you so much for clarifying your request, this was a very cute idea and I really enjoyed writing it!! It's a bit on the longer side for a drabble but I hope you like it!!

“God damnit!” Ballister spat, limping towards his hideout. This latest attempt to infiltrate the castle had proven far less successful than he'd hoped. The Institution put in a bunch more booby traps than the plans he'd intercepted showed. His leg was ensnared in barbed wire, as he'd abandoned his armor to fit through the narrow drainage gate. He ended up bloodied before his nemesis even got a chance to show up. He really hoped he wouldn't find him and rub his face in this now.

“Need a hand?” Said a voice from the woods. Ballister narrowed his eyes. “Come to gloat, Goldenloin?”

There was silence and then a rustling of leaves as the shiny, bronze-clad knight stepped out of the shadows. “Come on, don't be like that. I didn't set those traps, I didn't even know they were there! Nobody expected you or anyone else to try and bust in that way.” He looked at Ballister's leg. “You're hurt.”

“Oh gee, I wonder how that happened?” He replied sarcastically. Ambrosius rolled his eyes. “My horse is tied a bit further back on the path. He's good for double-riding, we’ll get you home.”

“I am not escorting you back to my house, have you lost your mind?”

Ambrosius crossed his arms. “Well I can't well let you stumble back there on your own in this state! But fine, I anticipated you might be stubborn about it, so I brought a first aid kit.” He rifled through his pack. “There's a clearing just up the road here.”

Ballister swallowed. Damn, he really didn't want to take help from Ambrosius, the bastard probably had some scheme planned. If he wasn't gonna arrest him, it'd be something else. But what choice did he have? He couldn't get back home in this state, not without getting patched up first. “Fine.”

Ambrosius smirked triumphantly, which was infuriating, and tucked an arm up under Ballister's shoulder on his bad side. Surprisingly gentle, he supported his weight while they limped to a nearby clearing off the road, where they wouldn't be seen.

Ballister hissed looking at his leg when he sat down. It would heal, but it was definitely sprained and torn up.

Ambrosius lit a lantern and took out his medical supplies. So far, Ballister didn't see signs of funny business. He insisted upon inspecting the iodine before allowing Ambrosius to use it, but there appeared to be nothing amiss.

Ambrosius donned a pair of gloves and wire-cutters and began carefully snipping and pulling away the barbed wire. Ballister fought to remain composed, but damn, it hurt like a bitch. For once, Ambrosius was quiet, not mocking. “I know,” he said softly. “I know it hurts. I'm almost done.” He dampened a gauze rag with iodine and dabbed the area.

Ballister’s eyes snapped wide and he bit hard on his tongue to stop from screaming. That shit always burns something awful. He briefly thought maybe Ambrosius was doing this to get pleasure from hurting him, but the way his brow furrowed said something different. “Shhh, take deep breaths. I’m sorry, I'm sorry, almost done.” He examined the leg. “It doesn't look like you need any stitches, so I'll bandage this up, okay?”

Ballister nodded stiffly, and he watched as those hands, bare from the scaled armor that usually concealed them, wrapped clean gauze bandaging around his calf with all the care and precision in the world. His eyes were focused, not manic as usual. He almost looked like the young man Ballister once loved, when he would ice his sprains and stroke his hair. Almost.

Ambrosius tied off the bandage and patted the leg. “That ought to feel better.”

Ballister pulled his leg away and tucked it under himself. “Why are you doing this?”

Ambrosius looked at him, almost puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Oh please. You know it's weird! Why patch me up? What's your angle?”

Ambrosius shrugged. “You know my angle already.” He looked away, and the cocky veneer glossed over his face again, accompanied by a toothy grin. “You're my nemesis. If anything bad happens to you, I'll be out of a job!”

“Ugh!” Ballister rolled to his feet and began limping back to the path.

“Ballis– Lord Blackheart, wait!”

He swiveled. “What do you want, Goldenloin? What do you actually want?”

“Oh! Um–” he played with his hands. “You should take my horse. It will be hard to walk. Just send him back tomorrow.”

“Oh, you got a tracker on him or something?”

Ambrosius rolled his eyes. “I already know where your fortress is! Why would I even– just take him, okay? Just send him back, he'll get sad without his friends at the stable. He can find his own way home, he's done it before.”

Ballister took a deep breath, but he relented. He looked over the beast once Ambrosius retrieved it and as he claimed, there was nothing nefarious that stood out. Looking at that face, the face he once loved so deeply, saying goodbye, it felt somehow different.

Maybe the Ambrosius he loved wasn't all gone, maybe parts of him remained. There was an understanding between them. Maybe not quite trust, but there was something, like it or not, and there always would be

[sseanettles]

nothing grows in corpses (in the earth of me)

dream x hob gadling | mature | Finally cross-posting my take on the fandom classic of the show progresses as the comics do, even to The Wake. Until Death resurrects Morpheus and forces the choice of "redemption" upon him instead of suicide. It goes...horribly. No good. Very bad. Instead of learning the lesson, Morpheus (in his infinite wisdom) opts instead for a highly effective existence strike until one day Hob Gadling stumbles upon his ghastly handiwork and immediately decides that this just won't do. Man Who Refuses To Die vs. Man Who Refuses To Live: fight.

Dead Dove, Do Not Eat for the following: graphic depictions of starvation, illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, blood and gore, loss of autonomy, etc. etc. This is some classic old world whump, folks! But I promise it's also supremely healing in the end.

CH. 3: take me back to eden, pt. 2 | 6.2 k | AO3 link | prev part | next part

(or: the one where Delirium finds her brother-no-longer and dispenses her wisdom.)

“You had to see this coming,” Desire drawled and leaned against the brick wall as if it were a pillar on the balcony of a resplendent palace and they were its sovereign’s most beloved concubine…and not the mouth of a dingy, foul-smelling alley. “What else did you think he was going to do?”

Death sighed beside them, and her fingers drummed upon her hips as she glared at one of the shapes within the narrow passage. It had wedged itself within the recess between a stack of pallets that hadn’t been touched in months and a forgotten rubbish bin, mostly exposed to the elements but partly covered by the tarp draped over the wood. It rested up against the wall at a tilt that kept its face turned into the shadows with its knees drawn up to guard its chest and its arms tucked down in-between the two.

“I thought, in the face of no other options, he’d actually listen to someone other than himself.”

Desire gave her a dour look.

“You’ve met him, right?” 

Death shot them an equally unimpressed glance and then stepped into the alley.

“Morpheus.”

The figure twitched but did not move any further.

“Morpheus.”

His eyes, once capable of such cutting ruthlessness, forced open with all the ease of rusted hinges. Where once his irises had been star-filled—his pupils bleeding out into their oceans until they turned as wickedly black as obsidian and just as sharp—they were now no more than washed-out forget-me-nots, the thinnest of blues marooned in bloodshot sclera and locked away behind a glassy sheen.

That smallest of movements was the only concession he granted her.

“…Are you here to take my hand?”

It took Death a few words into his question to reconcile the croaking voice with the human before her, let alone the fathomless entity she had once known it as. Even then, she managed it only by the thread of petulant stubbornness that yet underscored its disintegrating syllables. She sank her teeth into her cheek, catching the soft tissue between the edges of her molars that did not truly exist until she tasted the blood she did not really need to manifest. She staked herself in that flash of pain and battened her resolve.

She could not blink. No matter how ugly her brother allowed this to become.

“No,” she answered.

Morpheus felt a twinge in his heart unrelated to the palpitations and skipping beats that had become increasingly common in the last several days. He did not know why he felt it; it was not as if her response was a surprise. He had known to expect it. Perhaps, though, some new, human part of him had yet hoped she would relent.

Sparkling, optimistic eyes in an equally warm face haunted the backs of his eyes in the time it took him to blink, lit by flame and enveloped by the smell of beer and sweat and dirt.

…wretched humanity.

“Then, there is nothing more to discuss,” he half-croaked, half-wheezed, and shut his eyes once more.

He could taste blood at the corners of his mouth where the parched skin had split further as he spoke. His throat worked in useless reflex, his tongue doing the same as both tried to alleviate his thirst. It was naught but rubber on rubber, and he noted with faint, academic interest that a sharp copper tang trickled to life in the bottom of his mouth. It no longer seemed bone dry, more like a few drops of water spilled on dusty ground…scant rain pooling atop the hard-packed earth in pearls of muddy, gritty sludge.

It seemed he had just cut his tongue on the inner edge of his own teeth.

Ah, well. It was a new taste amid the stale foulness that had been growing since he wedged himself here.

“You’ve been doing this for two and a half weeks.” His head throbbed. His stomach ached, and the pain there radiated out along every nerve to settle in his bones, pulsing to the unsteady rhythm of his stuttering heart. “The family is getting worried.”

“Speak for yourself,” Desire snorted and tightened the cross of their arms over their half-exposed chest. “I would love to see how much longer he can keep this going.”

To Morpheus’ threadbare senses, his sister fell quiet, shifting on her feet as if to look sharply at something behind her. Nothing filled her silence, though, and he was not about to do it for her. He had said his piece.

“What?” Desire protested in the face of Death’s scolding glare and gestured first to the oblivious creature folded against the wall and then to their eldest sister. “All he desires is death, and that’s your domain.” They shrugged and crossed their arms once more. “As far as he’s concerned, I’m not here.”

They moved with the languid, mocking grace only they possessed, but even Desire, with all their skill at obfuscation and performance, did not lie well enough. For Death knew her younger siblings better than they knew themselves. And she easily spied the faintest disquiet that stiffened Desire’s flow and betrayed the truth of their state, their true reaction to the scene unfolding before them.

They were afraid. Afraid of how ugly he was willing to let this turn and of how long she would hold out against his protests.

They were right to be afraid.

Death put the twin out of her mind and returned her attention to their fallen brother.

Against the wall, Morpheus listened to the grind of grit between Death’s boots and the cobblestone as her weight shifted and sank. Her voice, when it came again, was lower to his level.

“You haven’t eaten,” she said, with all the patience of a mother talking down her tantrum-throwing toddler with deliberate, simply spoken logic. “You haven’t had even a single drop of water…so I know you know I spoke the truth before.”

At the mention of water, Morpheus’ throat once again spasmed and choked on phantom drink. He gritted his teeth further, redoubling the throb in his temples, and forced his desperate thirst to subside.

“You will not die,” his once beloved sister warned. “No matter what you do.”

He would take even rain at this point. But she could not know that. She could not win.

��Anyone else I would have taken by now.”

She sounded so sad. So battered, so tired…he could make that stop. All he had to do was—

No. No, he had to do nothing. She could make this stop as easily as he could—more easily.

She could not win.

He said nothing and tried to cling to the phantoms of The What Comes Next that still lingered like shades at the edge of his memory…wisps of smoke and nothing more. He did not think of food. Did not think of water. He had gone a hundred years without either as an Endless, feeling every ache of it in his bones then, too. He could do it again now.

Death, with her cadaver’s skull and lidless eyes, would blink first.

“Brother, you haven’t even slept,” Death pushed, and the first shade of a plea entered her entreaties. “He knows you haven’t gone to the Dreaming. He’s…he’s been waiting for you.”

Waiting for me, Morpheus wanted to sneer and instead ground his molars until the white-hot knife of pain shot through his jaw. Oh, sister.

I hate him more than I hate you.

“You’re torturing yourself!”

And there it was. The crack in her voice, the open beg for him to stop, just stop this, was as loud as the splintering of a frozen lake beneath the feet of a child—the snap of a climber’s rope and the millisecond of weightlessness before the free fall began.

The impact of a jouster’s lance on armor and the telltale smack of puncturing metal where there should have been a life-preserving ring.

The first fissure in her resolve.

Morpheus struggled to raise his head by trembling fractions, his hand following suit with dirtied, papery skin that could have gone up like tinder with the lightest spark. And with the deepest, most rattling breath he could manage, Morpheus pushed himself slightly more upright, his head raising until his forehead could brace against the sun-warmed bricks. His head turned on his aching, seizing neck, every muscle in his body trembling and cramping with starvation, and his eyes, both open now, locked onto his sister.

She was trying so hard to not stare at him in horror, he knew. The boundaries of even her quiet patience and compassion were reaching their limit along with his rapidly thinning form before her—with its darkening eye sockets and sinking cheeks and opening wounds and wax-like skin that somehow seemed both puffy and dried-out. His hair was stiffened with grime. His nails, once pale and pristine, were caked with dirt, and he knew he was starting to smell something spectacular.

“If…it bothers…you so,” he rasped between heavy breaths, painting his lips first pink and then red with each progressive word, “then…let…it…end.”

Death’s mercy stiffened.

“That’s how it is?” she asked after a long moment.

Morpheus gave his answer in his slow, marionette’s collapse back to his previous posture: shoulders hunched, head bowed, eyes closed, face averted.

And in doing so, he missed the moment Death’s face hardened into something reminiscent of their long-absent parents. He could not miss it in her voice, though, and if he had reflected on this moment, on what his sister offered him and how he was handling the situation, he would have realized his misstep. He would have re-evaluated his choices, his paths, and perhaps tried a different way. Perhaps, he would have ventured down that patchy elephant trail through the darkest part of the forest and seen what awaited him on the other side.

Perhaps, he would have felt even a flicker of guilt for driving his sister to such an extreme, for drawing out of her the echo of their parents’ lingering damage.

But Morpheus had never been one for honest insight.

“Fine.” Death sniffed sharply, dashing her hand to her nose, her eyes, and stood. She wiped her palms on her pants, adjusted her shirt, and passed her fingers over the chain of her necklace down to her ankh in fleeting comfort. “You want to play chicken with me? A staring match with Death?”

Her fidgeting stilled, and it left her standing as tall and firm as a Sovereign’s monument above her cowed subject. She looked down at him as such, and the sadness in her eyes was deep and pitying.

You brought this on yourself.

“Then, I’ll give it to you.”

“Wait,” Desire said, unheard at the alley mouth, “what?”

Death’s chin trembled and then firmed to an iron jaw. Her hands curled into fists, black nails sinking into her palms.

“You won’t see me again, Morpheus,” she promised. Her oath fell from her lips as bindingly as anything written in Destiny’s solemn book. “Not until you’ve learned the lesson.”

She turned from her once-brother in the alley and made it as far as Desire’s side before her certain step faltered. She dug her fingers into the ridge of her hips, hardly keeping herself from turning back to him. 

She looked to the sky. She blinked quickly and breathed in sharp, deep bursts as she struggled to hold her resolve.

There were birds overhead. Pigeons.

“Brother—” Her voice broke apart like the shards of a mirror beneath a sledgehammer, in a stuttering rainfall of glue and backing and glass. “You’re breaking my heart.”

Some of the precious moisture left in Morpheus’ body welled in his eyes. He did not let them fall, did not betray their presence in a flush across his cheeks or a deeper quake to his already unsteady breaths. He forced himself onward as he was: uncaring, indifferent.

There came the sound of wings and nothing more.

Alone again, Morpheus allowed himself to move. He sagged in a slightly different slump, canted his shoulders at just enough of an angle to grant him a line of sight from the corner of his eye to the alley’s mouth. Perhaps a part of him, that part that had believed that maybe his sister would change her mind, hoped even now that she would reappear.

To no one’s surprise, least of all his own, she did not.

Instead, the craving for food, for water, for sleep, came upon him once more with a touch more sharpness, and his eyes caught on the faintest shimmer of a deprivation-induced mirage at the alley’s entrance. Yellow eyes watched him from an uncharacteristically somber face, the bleached hair tinted at the roots with a shadow of their darker tones. Their lips, red and full and typically smiling with all the hunger of a cat with the canary ensnared in its claws, pressed into a strained, thin thing. They regarded him in much the same posture they had held before—leaned against the wall, their legs and arms crossed.

But that expression…Morpheus could not recall having ever seen that particular expression on Desire’s face. It was so foreign on them as to be unidentifiable. No matter how hard he tried or how familiar it seemed, it was….

“Why must you be so stubborn?” they sighed.

A wave of vertigo so great it nearly dragged him to the Dreaming itself swept over him. Spots of light and dark danced across his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, he swore a pulse of psychedelic color pirouetted between them, like a sullied paintbrush dunked into clean water.

He bit his tongue where it had already split, grounding himself in the subsequent flash of wet iron, and the butterfly wings of color settled once more into the shapes and tones of sanity. He answered his once-enemy, his once-sibling, from the silence of his mind. He knew they would hear it all the same. It was their function to know that which…that which humanity locked away, unspoken, in the confines of flesh and bone.

Because it is all that I have left.

He awaited no response, expected none. He curled back into the wall and submerged himself once more in that grating buzz of sensation, that numbing, static-laden bell jar of human existence where once he had been infinite. Everything fell away save that nothingness, including Desire.

And so, Morpheus lied there in an alley of Richmond-on-Thames, alone by his own hand once again.

He did not eat. He did not drink. He did not bother to even clean himself, allowing only the rain to wash over him when it came and not making any effort with it when it did beyond the will of nature and gravity. And while the agony of hunger and thirst, of starvation and desiccation, was nerve-deep in a way that it had not been as an Endless, it too eventually faded away into a dull, permeating background radiation if he ignored it hard enough. Sleep, he found, was not as easily refuted in a mortal body, but he had settled into a grudging rhythm with even that. For days at a time, upwards of a week, he would hold off the pull of his successor until he could no longer. And the sands that had once been his to command would pull him down, down, down—

Nightmares awaited him there, at rock bottom.

There in the Dreaming, in that place of power and refuge that had once moved at his command like a great symphony, he struggled and screamed and raged. He found no refuge from the pains of his Waking World, only a record of his worst mistakes skipping endlessly: his worst choices, his coldest and most calloused lows that he had once envisaged as his greatest highs. He wondered when he woke—with bitterness, with tear-less sobs, with a panic-stricken, racing heart—what he had possibly done to his successor in the short time they had known each other to warrant such treatment. He wondered how his Nightmares could hate him so, wondered if he had wounded them so grievously in life that they now leapt at such chances to turn their prowess against him. He had tried to pick out their handiwork even as he suffered at their hands, tried to distract himself from the contents of his dreams by attempting to peek behind the curtain, but so far, he had not been able to correctly call them out by name.

If he had, they had not betrayed themselves to him.

Meadows morphed into plains of agony, the long blades of grass hardening to razor sharp glass and metal that cut him to shreds no matter which way he moved. His falling blood blossomed into poppies, and his life blood coursed from his veins until a sea of wildflowers remained. When he could hold himself up no longer, the crimson turning now to petals before it had even left his veins, he collapsed into the ravenous land and impaled upon its ruthless fields until he woke screaming.

Libraries, once a quiet, reflective refuge, turned to consuming shadows as the shelves vanished within an encroaching dark that he knew he had to avoid at any cost. And as he fled amid their ranks, searching desperately for just one book, for one story that could show him the way out, he only fell deeper into a labyrinth he should have known as the back of his own hand. Every tome he opened turned to bone dust in his fingers, turned to rotted paper and buckram, and the spines transformed to vertebrae that dripped with blood and soaked his sleeves and stained his skin no matter how he scrubbed, and—

“…My Lord?”

Her voice…that blessed voice, he was saved, he was safe. His Librarian, ever loyal Lucienne would be able to guide him from here—

He turned to see her standing at the end of the aisle, just as the dreaded dark set upon her.

Her stalwart, kind yet stern countenance crackled and caught flame like the pages of a book, and she screamed, reaching for him with blackening and disintegrating hands as her eyes melted from her sockets and her glasses cracked with the self-immolating heat. Her agonized, shrieking howl turned to a drawn-out question, a demand raked over shattered stained glass and rubble, and voices three cackled amid the flames.

“WHY, MY LORD?”

He sat in a rocking chair before a softly crackling hearth, at peace, at rest. Until the flames jumped the stone, until the home caught fire, blazing into a 4-alarm inferno that consumed him and all around him. And all the while he was paralyzed within his chair, trapped at the heart of this hellfire with, at times, a babe clutched in his arms, swaddled in a blanket held tightly to his chest as it screamed and screamed and screamed. And the tighter he held, the louder it screamed, and the hotter the house burned, and his skin melted down to his bones, melted down to—

Sometimes, he dreamt of Fawney Rig.

Other times, he dreamt of Naxos.

He did not dwell on those dreams for too long. He did not dwell on any of them for too long. Even as he woke into the full-blown stupor of his youngest sister’s domain, he did not allow himself to consider the function of nightmares. He did not allow himself to consider that nightmares, at least under his tenure, had functioned much the same as Hell had under the Morningstar. The implication if he had would have been too great.

You received that which you thought you deserved.

There was no lesson to be learned. There could not be.

o\\__oOoOoOo__//o

The minutes stretched to hours, stretched to days, stretched to weeks. He could not recall now the first time that Delirium had appeared to him, only that she had arrived amid a torrenting school of glittering fish, a rainbow riptide that had set his skin crawling and his head spinning and had drawn a manic, helpless little giggle into his throat as his world tilted like a carnival ride in its wake. She had appeared to him cross-legged on the wall above him, her pale hair with its prism-colored streaks defying the laws of gravity and swimming about her head as if she were submerged in water with technicolor bubbles bursting from her lips as she spoke. Her eyes glittered neon blue and green each, and her head tilted to and fro like a curious dog as she considered him below her.

“You’re not my brother,” she announced after a time. “Brother-not-brother, sister-not-sister, but not sister-not-sister and brother-not-brother like Desire.” She rocked forward into a kneel that then sprawled her further onto all fours, reaching one hand down to poke at his filth-stiffened hair from her crouch upon the wall. “You’re brother-shaped but not brother insides.”

She felt like ants, like spiders skittering across his scalp, and he gritted his teeth to keep from scratching in a frenzy.

Not real. It is not real, it is only delirium—

She rocked back onto her heels, squinting in thought so deep it contorted the rest of her face along with it. The millions of little legs along his sunburnt skin, weaving between the roots of his matted hair, trickled away like the last dregs of sand from an hourglass.

“Like one of those bears or unicorns or fish or frogs, the mena…” She stopped. Blinked. Her fingers twisted and linked and released, trying to shape the letters and count the syllables she couldn’t recall. “Mena-whatever that word is, ménage a trois, menace—” She gave up in a huffing sigh and dropped into her cross-legged seat once more so that she could then double over at the hips, stretching her arms as far as they could along the brickwork toward Morpheus, her fingers flexing in kind before they dug into the mortar grooves. She turned her head, pillowing her temple along her netting-wrapped bicep at an angle that should have broken her neck. Those heterochromatic eyes, too bright, too saturated, watched him like needles. “The whatevers that they make at that place in the place made of other places where people go to buy and make and get things. Do you know that place? Where they make softer, squishier versions of bigger, stronger things?” Her arms crossed like her legs, and she settled her chin upon the X of her wrists in a pouting, scowling huff. “I wanted to make a little doggy for Barnabas, but they didn’t let us in. Stupid people.”

Her hair continued to drift and sway, drowned beneath invisible waves. Though he knew he had not moved, was pretty sure he had not moved—wait, have I moved—Morpheus felt himself float alongside her. Gravity could not touch him, could not tether. The cobblestones were firm beneath him, the wall as unyielding, and yet still he drifted.

He flexed his aching, spasming fingers into the pallet board and brick and tried to breathe through the vertigo.

There came a scooting above him, and his skin began to buzz, as if he were sitting too close to an old television screen, not that he personally knew what that was or had ever had the experience. Yet, he knew it all the same. He was standing close to the burning coils of something filled with power, and the barely contained chaos cloyed to him like dandelion fuzz.

When he dared glance to his once-sister from the corner of his eye, he found her looming mere inches from his face.

She was so strange, this close, with these mortal eyes. Porcelain-perfect skin, fragile as a doll’s and yet as sharp as diamond with just as many faceted surfaces refracting within itself until he was staring at a kaleidoscope: she was what he could only call fae-like and in the most terrible manner. She smiled with the same puckish quality, frowned with the same bafflement and nose-wrinkling disdain.

One spindly hand reached for him, fast and slow and smooth and jerky at the same time, impossible to track and yet impossible to not see coming. She picked at his hair, his skin, his clothes, pulled one arm from where he had wedged it between his body and the wall; and though he fought her all the while, he moved as putty within her hands, helpless to resist save for the droning whine that settled in his teeth at her proximity like a low, bass-y dog whistle only he could hear. The world was spinning. Spinning, spinning, spinning, and he was caught in the whirlwind. No, he was the vortex; no, he was the tear—

“Your outside isn’t as strong as my brother’s.” Delirium frowned as she ran her hands along the length of his arm, feeling every bone, each ligament and tendon that strained beneath paper-thin skin pockmarked with blisters and bruises. His muscles, once on par with that of an archer, a climber, a blade dancer, had wasted away, and he trembled in her grip. “Really not as strong as his. Think your stuffing might be like his, though.” She lowered his hand to peer into his eyes. “Is your stuffing like his was?” She frowned. “Or is it is?”

She released, and his arm snapped back to his side as if spring-loaded, searing and numbing in waves like the tides on a beach far from here. The vertigo began to ease, the world settling down to a tilt-a-whirl and not an outright tornado.

“It gets all messy with family,” she complained with another humphing sigh. She turned around to flop down on her back so that she hung upside down from the wall with her head settled beside his. “Messy, messy, messy like finger-painting—” She gasped and held her arms straight out to the sky, palms splayed. The sun sat between her outstretched hands, nestled in the cradle of her thumbs and index fingers. “Did you know parents used to put their kids on their shoulders even way, way, way back when to paint?” She wiggled her fingers, and little sparking pirouettes of light and color burst from them, as if drawing strumming lines of color and sound from the fabric of reality before her. “You can see their little hands up so, so, so high in those old, old, old caves from that way, way, way back time…too high up for them to reach so someone had to hold them up there.”

They stayed there like that for a while, Del on her back, squinting at the sun between her hands, and Morpheus below her, shivering and shuddering in the wake of her static. In time, she let her arms thud back to her sides. She chewed on her lip and looked a little less sure.

“I just saw him, y’know—my actual brother,” she began and rolled onto her stomach. Morpheus tried not to jump out of his skin as her touch brushed along his spine, sending a trickle of fingers spidering down his vertebrae like an old children’s rhyme that rose unbidden in his mind, not his to know and certainly never his to have experienced before. And yet there it was, in his memory, lilting in his sister’s voice like a siren from a watery cave.

Crack an egg on your head, let the yolk run down, let the yolk run down.

“But he doesn’t look like you,” Del mused. “He’s shiny and new.” Her nose crinkled, and she scrutinized her dirtied fingertips as she rubbed them together. “You smell, and you look dead. Is that mean to say?” She sighed again, this time tired and annoyed. “I don’t know what’s mean to say to family anymore, it’s so different for everyone now.”

She bent her knees, and her fishnet-clad feet kicked slowly at empty air, back and forth and back and forth.

“He doesn’t feel like you, either,” she said, contemplating Morpheus below her. “Your stuffing is all gooey and gushy and red, but he’s all stardust and ooh!” Her palms slammed down onto the wall, and she pushed herself up until her elbows locked like a mermaid on a rock or a yoga instructor in Cobra Pose. “Did you know space has a smell?” she blurted with a dazzling smile. “Do you know what space smells like? I went up there just to see for myself, it’s all burning hot metal and gasoline, summertime, burnt almonds on grills—” she dropped back to her elbows, her feet kicking faster now, her hands rising and contorting in storytelling accompaniment to her words. “It smells like an interstate. Going and going and going from one place to another and all these people right next to each other and all alone all at once until they crash into each other in hot metal and gasoline, and it’s all sunny under a big bright star, like a supernova. End and start and end and start, over and over and over—”

Her ramble stopped only to a deep, sucking inhale, and she stared at Morpheus with wide, moonish eyes. She reached down and thumped a hand against his shoulder blade. The stiffened joint crackled like old plastic, and once more the trickling fingers burst from the contact, running down his ribs to his hips and dripping to the filthy street. 

Stick a knife in your back, let the blood run down, let the blood run down.

“What are you?”

Morpheus said nothing for a long while, paralyzed beneath the running touch of those phantom hands, their cascading taps, their tingling contacts like a million little electrical shocks and a million little legs, a million little bites—

A million little butterfly wings.

“…Human,” he exhaled through cracked lips, the single word no louder than the breath it took to speak it.

Delirium worked herself back up into her cross-legged seat. Her head tilted.

“You don’t die like a human. You sure you’re human?” she needled. Morpheus nodded. Or at least he thought he nodded. He was still too overwhelmed with vertigo to be sure. “Human,” Del echoed above him, turning the word over in her mouth, shaping its vowels oh so carefully. “Human, human, hew-man. Hew means to cut,” she said, “to chop, chop, chop,” she said, driving the edge of one hand into the palm of the other, “to little bits—that’s really so much messier when you’re just a man. When you’re endless, you can unravel—” Her ankles turned beneath her, and she unfolded to stand tall, to rise on her toes with her feet still crossed. Her arms branched outward, and she fell into a sort of pirouetting spin that possessed all the coordination of a broken clockwork doll. “—and unravel and unravel, and you always—” her untangled feet landed firmly upon the wall, braced at a defiant shoulder’s width, “—unravel back into yourself. There’s nothing really to cut up.”

She stared down at her brother, swaying side to side. Colors and fish and butterflies and frogs lifted from the weathered layers of her red skirt with her movements, rising and falling like the pull of tides upon the drowned sands and grasses beneath their surfaces.

“But a man, a man cuts up in so many pretty colors,” she said and looked to her feet, twisting now at the hips as she swayed and moving her hands through the little friends that accompanied her as she did. “Like poppies and aaaall the fishies in the oceans.”

Her lights and sounds, her fish and butterflies and frogs, drifted down to him like bubbles waiting to pop, and their visages exploded into little bursts of confetti upon touching his emaciated form. Everywhere they lit upon him, the untethering furthered and worsened. He screwed his eyes shut and tried not to throw up blood and bile.

Spiders running up your arms, spiders running up your arms—

“Y’know, not-brother…” Delirium sank slowly into herself, into her masses, into her madness, and sat once more upon the wall. “I don’t think you’re doing the human thing very well.” Morpheus turned his head with painstaking slowness until he could fix one eye on his youngest sibling. She watched him, and in those eyes, both the same gleaming, brilliant blue, glowed something so far beyond the madness that it circled back around to sanity. “You should start over.”

Crisscross, applesauce—

She blinked. Her blue gaze halved to green, and the truth-sight went with it.

“Like an Etch-a-Sketch!” She lifted her hands as if holding a small board and began to shake it up and down. “Just shake-shake-shake-shake—”

—and now you have the chills.

A new sound encroached on Morpheus’ frayed senses, a loping pad of several light-footed steps overlapping each other in a patterned tattoo, and a gruff voice entered the alley a meter to his right and slightly behind him.

“There you are,” Barnabas growled, looking up at the girl sat upon the wall as he neared. She waved to him with a smile. “Every time you get away from me, I start to worry what you’re…”

His scold trailed away with his attention as his nose caught upon a truly offensive combination of smells, and he tracked it back to the mass huddled below his charge. But beneath the filth and the disease lurked something else. Something familiar, something….

Something from Naxos not that long ago but also an age past.

“Oh…oh, this isn’t good.” The dog approached slowly, his head low, his shoulders and haunches similarly stooped. His nose twitched, and a whine burred in his throat, low and warbling in the hollow of his chest. The man did not acknowledge him. “That you in there, Morpheus?”

Delirium tossed her arms with a frustrated sigh.

“I’m trying to figure that out, Barnabas!”

The dog paused and raised his unimpressed eyes to her without adjusting his head. “How’s that working out for you?”

Delirium humphed and drew her knees up to her chest, locking her arms about them as she watched what came next from atop her kneecaps. Barnabas resumed his approach with the same caution as before, until he was near enough to close the last of the distance between himself and Morpheus. He stretched forward but kept his paws planted firm, every inch of him ready to leap back if the man reacted poorly even as he kept his large form as relaxed and un-menacing as possible.

A damp nose surrounded by feather soft white and black fur butted up against Morpheus, tucking beneath his arm to nudge at his head where it drooped upon his neck.

“Hey,” a voice nudged. Its breath was soothingly warm, like its body, and another whine rippled through it, a touch higher than before. Its tail wagged, low and slow, and its ears pressed flat to its skull as, having met no resistance at first, the mutt pressed a little further and knocked its head against the man’s in a reassuring nuzzle. “You want to try to get some food or drink in you?”

That proximity was the only reason Barnabas felt Morpheus’ minuscule shake of the head.

No.

“Oh. I see.” The dog pulled back, his ears now cocked forward, his stance held tall, and he regarded his new charge with the same beleaguerment he viewed Delirium. “So, this is deliberate.”

Morpheus missed the warmth and softness in his arms. He twitched a little further into the wall and hoped he hid his spike of yearning in the shift.

“Do you want this to be Morpheus?” Barnabas asked.

Delirium’s mouth curved in a ponderous frown and, like a child playing leapfrog, vaulted from the wall to the floor.

“Yeah?” She stood. “I think so. I…” She began to sway back and forth again as she watched her brother-not-brother like he was a fading Tinkerbell and all she had to do to bring him back to her was clap her hands and say I believe! I believe! as loud as she possibly could. Her hands clasped at the small of her back with tangled fingers, the very picture of a little girl afraid of asking too much. “I miss him.”

Barnabas nodded, as far as a dog could nod.

“Ok,” he said and padded off.

After a few minutes filled with nonsensical hums and mutterings and the faintly rattling breaths of the living corpse slumped against the wall, there came a distant clatter followed swiftly by scolding shouts. Nearly a minute later, the loping footsteps returned, and Barnabas slowed to first a prance and then a walk as he rounded the corner, a slightly mangled sandwich and water bottle held gently within his jaws.

He set them at Morpheus’ side, nudged right up against his scabbed and sunburnt feet, and sat back to wait.

“You know what they call us dogs?” he asked when the man continued to show no intent of moving.

There came the slightest shift in Morpheus’ sunken, heavy-lidded eyes that told Barnabas he had made some kind of effort to look in his general direction. But in his sullen silence also came his reply.

No.

“Man’s best friend,” Barnabas said in answer to himself. He walked out his front legs until his belly pressed to the ground, and he pillowed his jaw upon his paws in wait. “I’m about to get really annoying.”

Morpheus’ eyes shifted forward once more, into the filthy, cobwebbed dark of the pallet boards and wall.

Delightful.