#what if you were crafted by hand to be devoid of thought or emotion

[mollypaup]

"no voice to cry 'suffering!' " still goes unbelievably hard. Insane about this single line of game text six years later.

[utterdisaster1]

The Teenage Foolishness

Pairing: Sirius Black x male!reader angst at certain point, kinda smut at another. If you haven't read the previous post/chapter whatever, Y/N is muggle-born

Hope you like it! TW: use of Y/N, internalised homophobia, pining, erotic thoughts, erotic things in general, AMAB! reader, swearing, mentions of war, mentions of toxic family

After the first year, the following two were not particularly remarkable. That is not to say that the days were mundane, or that nothing interesting ever happened; rather, you were immersed in a routine devoid of anything exceptional to distinguish it.

You and the rest of the Marauders—a nickname coined by Lily of all people - "Unbelievable! You cost us 50 points, and for what?! Marauding around the castle like vagabonds… I cannot comprehend what is so special or enjoyable about being as much of a nuisance as Peeves!" - continued to pursue your intention of making the most of your years at the school, pranking those who deserved it (mainly the Slytherins) and not taking life too seriously

At times, you felt that James and Sirius, in particular, went a little overboard in targeting a specific individual, but simultaneously, he gave as good as he got, so you did not see much issue with the clear rivalry between your group and Severus Snape.

You continued to learn, to excel, and to immerse yourself in magical education, relentless in your persuit of knowing everything.

In your third year, you began tutoring some first-years in Transfiguration and Charms. You also encountered your first struggle - Arithmancy.

You chose it alongside Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures as your electives, thinking it wouldn’t be too challenging.

You did enjoy the Creatures class the most and found Ancient Runes, which included lessons on enchanting objects, warding, and curse-breaking, truly fascinating. You were always eager for those classes.

But Arithmancy… You thought it would simply be wizarding maths, but it was far from that. You barely scraped by in it and fully intended to drop it before fifth year. Spell-crafting be damned; if you had to read one more paragraph on the properties of numbers and shapes, you felt like you might spontaneously combust. And preparing for an OWL in it… that would be unbearable.

Another struggle that began in third year was dealing with feelings. Suddenly, you started experiencing peculiar emotions. Of course, there had been boys who caught your eye before, but it had never been significant. However, the affections you might have had, or not, seemed to grow in intensity.

Suddenly, instead of a mere sense of admiration, a deep longing emerged. You would catch yourself imagining how delightful it would be to walk hand in hand with them, to embrace them, to kiss them, to…

Even with the knowledge that your proclivities were not frowned upon in the wizarding world, the years you spent before joining it had conditioned you to feel guilt and denial. It felt as though you were being pushed by shame from one side and encouragement from the other, leaving no space for action.

So you suppressed those feelings, turning to those shameful late-night moments in which you inflicted some self-pleasure upon yourself.

You felt guilty thinking about schoolmates that way. The only comfort was that it usually wasn’t someone you were particularly close with, so objectifying them wasn’t thrown in your face the next morning.

Then the fifth year arrived, and with it, a very changed, taller, better-built Sirius.

He said he had spent most of his summer at his uncle Alphard's house, which had a Quidditch pitch nearby, allowing him to fly and work out every day. Training for his Beater position on the Quidditch team involved a lot of work from his arm and chest muscles.

And what a sight those muscles were, when he took his outer robe off, leaving only a thin dress shirt on. They were enthralling to watch, and it took you greater effort than fighting any duel, facing any Slytherin, or preparing for any exam to avert your gaze elsewhere.

It didn't help that he paid particular attention to you. There was something in his gaze that made you want to squirm.

It's worth mentioning you changed over the summer too. You barely had to lift your head now to look your dad straight in the eyes (which came with your mum droning on about needing to buy an entirely new wardrobe for you since all your clothes were too short). Your face became thinner, and your jawline more pronounced. You would often run, not from schoolmates, but for the simple release of pent-up energy from being deprived of magic (you would curse whoever it was that created the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, if they were still alive) and worrying about a possible raid from Death Eaters all summer.

You did try to act casual. But you were also 16. And suddenly, when the night came, the only thoughts you had, were of him.

His nature didn't help either. He was always affectionate with touch - an arm around your shoulder when walking together, his head always resting on someone's lap while relaxing on the couches in the Gryffindor common room. He did that with all of his friends.

So it meant he did it with you as well. In those moments, you begged to be back in the Arithmancy classroom, listening to lectures about numerological transcendence or whatever else you couldn't grasp, because it would still be easier than withstanding the force of Sirius Black's friendly affection. Friendly.

You always made sure to keep the outer robes on, so you could cover your crotch and the erection that occured whenever he tugged you closer to him or rested his head on your arm.

After one very close call, when he laid his head on your lap, you realised it had become essential never to sit next to him again. Not as long as you felt the way you did. It didn't help that the thoughts of his mouth so close to that particular area contributed to your unseemly activities later that evening and were followed by a sense of shame when you saw him the next morning while preparing to go down for breakfast.

And even if you told yourself that you were dealing with this insufferable infatuation, you couldn't help but feel jealous of the people who sparked Sirius' interest. You weren't the only person who had noticed how he had changed over the summer, after all.

It seemed every other week there would be a new girl clutching onto him like a lifeline. And considering the affection he showed his friends, you shouldn't have been surprised by how flagrant he was with them.

The shameless make-out sessions, blatant touching, and disgusting displays like feeding each other were hard to ignore. But over time, you got used to it. You didn't accept it, but it was just something that happened, yet another flaw in the world. It still was better than the fact that there was an actual war happening outside the school halls, a war against people like you, or rather, about ridding the world of people like you.

But then, one day, Sirius showed up for lunch with a boy. A Ravenclaw, one year above you. All of you were confused. And confusion turned into many different emotions when the ministrations that Sirius' girlfriends received were extended to him.

If you felt uneasy before, now you were actually physically sick. You wanted to vomit, to break something, or rather someone.

Ironically, one of the few comforts you had in the entire situation was knowing that if you never stood a chance with him, it wasn't because of your appearance or any other personal attribute, but simply because he was exclusively into girls. This made it easier to avoid letting yourself fantasise about being with him. At that point, however, the reality stung more sharply—knowing that he chooses not to have an interest in you, despite being open to it. It just made it all more painful.

So you quickly excused yourself and exited the Hall. You didn't run and cry, thinking about jumping off the astronomy tower like some heartsick, stupid people would do. You weren't sad. You were angry. Furious. Livid. Violent.

You hadn't noticed Remus going after you, all the way to the Forbidden Forest. You hadn't noticed him as you were throwing all known curses and hexes at a large pile of rocks, annihilating it in the process.

But after you were done, and decided to go back, there he stood. With this look of pity. Maybe you weren't as subtle as you thought, or maybe it was him being his usual, too perceptive self.

"I would say that it gets better, but I'm not going to start lying to you," he said.

"Are you- Do you- You too? With Sirius, I mean," you replied.

"Merlin no!" and after a short pause, "Well, maybe a little last year. But it went out the window after he insulted Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, massive turn-off," he said, the last part with a scoff, "And I'm more partial to the fair sex, being honest with you."

"How long have you known?" you asked.

"You know how my senses are heightened? Due to- you know. Well, some stronger emotions have the slightest scents that I can detect. They don't really compare to any normal ones… well, the technicalities don't really matter. Arousal is one of those scents, and I smelled it off of you while you were looking at him in the distance once or twice."

"Well, thank you for not calling me out on it," you said with the slightest of smiles. At that point, you also had to ask, because you knew it would nag you forever, "So if you can actually smell emotions, that means that things like…" You didn't exactly know how to ask whether he could smell you wank in the night, so you just made a gesture. He didn't seem unsettled by your question, to his credit.

"Oh, yeah, at first it was quite uncomfortable, but you weren't the first one to do it... Sirius was always hyper and he is the oldest, I suppose," he said, then continued, "I learned a spell to shield my bed from all smells in Second Year, but I forget to cast it sometimes," he said while rubbing the nape of his neck.

"Well, I've never felt more sorry for you, especially with Peter's dirty socks..." you said.

“Yes, well, it comes with living with four other teenage boys. But I’m the one who’s supposed to comfort you right now, not the other way around,” he said with a small laugh.

“You did say it wouldn’t just get better, as if from experience… Who were you that angry about? You, the calmest, most reasonable and even-tempered Gryffindor in history.”

“There was one particular girl that Sirius had dated about a month ago, and now even if I did try to ask her out, I’d be asking Sirius’ ex out. It did irk me, knowing he would drop her after a week or so anyway.”

“A shame you hadn’t told me; then we could wallow in self-pity together,” you chuckled a little. Maybe Freud was onto something with his “just talk about it and it will get better.” Although, you were also quite tired, so maybe there was simply no energy for anger at the moment.

“Do you want to smash some things too? I could conjure more rocks if you’d like,” you asked.

He smiled. “No, but I will tell you if I do. Let’s head back; I think we’re already late for Potions.”

You groaned. “Fuck Potions, we’re both rubbish at it anyway. Besides, I don’t know if I have it in me not to throw some beetle eyes or something equally disgusting at him right now.” You said this as you started walking back towards the castle.

“I am a prefect, you know,” Remus replied.

“Oh? So I suppose it wasn’t you who turned Mulciber’s hair into snakes yesterday?” you responded with a small chuckle.

He just huffed but didn’t rebut.

______________________________________________________________

What you and Remus failed to talk about and consider were appearances. There was nothing out of the ordinary with Remus’, but you, however, looked as if you’d just emerged from a fighting ring - messy hair, ruffled clothes, and scratches from the rock shards that you hadn’t even registered.

After worried questions stemming from a calm, “What happened?” from Peter, to James’ intense, “Did someone do this to you?! Tell. Me. Who!” you just said you’d fallen down the stairs, and Remus had taken you to the infirmary, which explained your absence during Potions class. And since it was just a theory lesson, you doubted Slughorn noticed or cared much.

The rest of the day, after fixing yourself up in the bathroom, you tried to act as usual. And it mostly worked. But, as seemed to be the pattern of the day, Sirius disrupted your attempts at casualness. It wasn’t his fault per se, since you always sat together in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Normally, you would chat and joke, having already mastered the subject. But today, you didn’t even want to see him, let alone talk to him.

Sirius wasn’t stupid, nor as self-conceited as some believed. He noticed the lack of banter and witty responses from you and asked, “Are you okay? You seem a little off today.”

Clearly he didn’t connect the dots that your being "a little off" might be related to your supposed fall down the stairs. His mind was probably preoccupied with that Ravenclaw arsewipe he had shown up with, making it clear he was bi.

So you simply responded, “I’m fine,” and started taking notes. This really set Sirius off, because you never did that in Defence class. By Fourth Year, you had enough knowledge and skill to score an Outstanding in NEWT for the subject. You had even ventured into Knockturn Alley to buy books on martial magic, most containing curses only found in the restricted section of the school library. He knew why you were so determined to master this area of magic. With raids, disappearances, and murders reported every other day, who wouldn’t be?

Sirius thought that maybe something else had happened other than the fall, but what could it be? No one dared to challenge you to a duel or sneak up on you after you sent the youngest Yaxley brother to the infirmary with so many afflictions and injuries he didn’t get out until a week later (you only got three nights of detention since it was technically self-defence after he tried to use the body-bind curse on you from behind first. The Gryffindor privilege probably played a part in that as well). You didn’t seem to be under a side-effect of pain medicine either.

He only realized the lesson was over because of your abrupt departure the moment the bell rang.

But there was someone with you when whatever happened had occurred - Remus. He had the answers, and Sirius was adamant about finding out the truth. But when he turned towards the desk Remus sat at, it was empty as well.

Suspicious.

Both of you disappearing halfway through the day and then coming back disheveled with a very convenient story... Could you...? Together?

Now, with his mind racing, Sirius reached the only plausible conclusion: it became clear he was into guys too, and one of you must have gotten jealous, so you sorted it out. The idea that Remus could have been the one to be with you like that, while Sirius was left out, sparked something he never wanted to feel about any of his friends - jealousy.

He loved Moony, don't get him wrong. But it was you and him that always had a little stack of letters after the holidays for each other, since neither could send them during the summer. "Merlin! I didn't know we had some summer essays set to write. What will we do, Pete?" James would always laugh. It was you and him that hated going away from Hogwarts because the castle was where you truly felt at home. It was you and him that sat together by the Black Lake in you spot, sharing those quiet moments that seemed to stretch into forever.

Why wouldn't you consider him for something more, then? He wasn't a saint, he knew that. But he also had access to mirrors, and he was a friend as long as Moony was.

And he had to admit, when he saw you on the train in September, desire surged through him. But you never seemed to look at him too long, let alone show any sign of actual interest. So he tried what he had seen work on those desperate girls and used all the tricks he had. But those attempts only seemed to turn you off, making you retreat from him. He recalled that evening when he laid his head on your lap, asking you to braid or play with his hair, and instead of blushing and giggling like those girls did, you immediately needed to get back to the dorm, claiming there was "a book you forgot to return to the library, and you better run before Madam Pince closes it" or some other excuse. After that, you avoided sitting next to him, except for during class.

When he saw you could defend yourself from the baby death eaters - commonly known as Slytherins - he stopped pretending not to associate with you. He was openly best friends with a "blood traitor," which, in his parents' eyes, was as bad as being a "filthy little Mudblood." So, he would get punished anyway.

He cherished the surprise on your face when he sat next to you at the Sorting Ceremony, the delight in your eyes when you realised he wasn’t playing the charade he had in First Year.

He was always honest with you. He never felt it important to discuss his sexuality, especially since you never mentioned yours. He assumed you shared his sentiment. But now it was clear that you had discussed it with someone - just not him. Maybe you and Remus had a special spot as well? Or maybe, the spot by the lake was only special to Sirius, and you came there only when dear Remus was too busy, or worse, out of pity, because Sirius would sit there sometimes, hoping you would appear.

He hated that feeling. You were his friends. He shouldn't be mad at you two being close, being together. But he was. He was angry with you, and he was even more furious with himself.

Maybe if he just mellowed down his advances, you would start to show similiar affection towards him as well? Or maybe you did feel it, but was just awkward about it and he hadn't noticed?

And then there were the flings.

So on one hand, you might be plainly uninterested, wanting nothing more than friendship. On the other, you might have been interested, but he had ruined it.

He had ruined it all, just as he always seemed to. His mother had often said so. His father, his br- Regulus, never disagreed.

He didn't ever realise he was now alone, with tears glistening in his eyes, heading towards nowhere in particular

______________________________________________________________

The rest of the week was tense for the Marauders. Sirius retreated as he had after his first Howler back in First Year. Fortunately, this time he already had James. Pete stuck by him too, offering snacks in the evenings and welcome distractions. Both of them knew Peter didn’t need help with Herbology, yet he asked Sirius for it, for example.

Not that you and Remus were there to witness most of these moments. You were cooped up in the library, sometimes together with Lily, Marlene, and Mary.

You didn’t know if it was just instinct or if you were that easy to read, but the three girls took to comforting you as well. Your study sessions continued with the addition of Lily’s dormmates, which made things much more fun, but also much riskier, since Madam Pince didn’t take kindly to any disturbances of silence, and snickering was very much a disturbance.

One evening, Marlene said that when she was sad she did her first piercing by herself. She mentioned it off-handedly, while being scolded by Lily and Mary for getting her nose infected - that attempt was not as successful as the first one “or numerous following ones!” Marlene didn’t fail to add.

So, when you were returning to the common room, you asked her which piercing wasn’t too painful and if she would be willing to do it for you. She eagerly agreed, recommending helix piercings since earlobes were “too obvious.”

And as much as it wasn’t the most pleasant experience, it wasn’t too bad either. You settled for piercings in each ear. Marlene said it was fate, since the Hogsmeade trip would be happening in two days. You would be able to buy your own jewellery, wearing hers for now.

You were barely the first person to have some alterations to their appearance done, so it didn’t gain much attention from most, only your friends, who you didn’t have many of, especially since three of your dormmates seemed engrossed with something they were sharing with neither you nor Remus. Even Mary said you looked "dashing", and with her being one of the icons (Marlene had called her a guru) of style by that point, you knew it really meant something.

You saw the dark circles under Sirius’ eyes, as well as how puffy they were. You wanted to comfort him, truly you did. He was your friend, first and foremost. But now, it seemed he was avoiding you. You thought of cornering him somehow but thought better of it. One can’t make Sirius Black do or say anything he doesn’t want to do. And he did not take kindly to attempts at trying.

So, you left him be and didn’t address any of the occasional looks you got from him with anything else but, what you hoped was, a comforting smile.

The trip to Hogsmeade was as eventful as any other, but with you not only buying earrings but some rings as well. You made sure none were made of silver, mindful of Moony.

The Sunday, however, proved to be something entirely else. You were planning on writing the Potions essay and reading the latest issue of Transfiguration Today. You hoped there would be at least something more than a mere mention of the Animagus process, having found only some sparse remarks on it in the books you’d read in the library so far.

There was always the Restricted Section, but you needed the Cloak for that, and James was always with Sirius.

And as much of a pain as it was to write about the Draught of Peace, it was one of the possible potions to brew for your OWL exam, and you needed one in Potions, no matter how much you loathed the idea of studying the subject at NEWT level. But you needed the NEWT to be allowed into the Auror Training, and complaining would get you nowhere.

But when you were finally done and reached for the magazine on your nightstand, the dorm room burst open, and in came James, Peter, and Sirius. And they came with purpose.

“Right, we’re going to settle this. You,” James pointed at you and Sirius, “will stay in this room until you’re okay again. I will let you starve to death if I have to.” And with that, he came out, locking the door.

You looked at Sirius and didn’t know what else to say but, “Always with dramatics, that one.”

Sirius didn’t respond at first, just looked at you for some time. You avoided his stare, which clearly was the wrong thing to do, seeing what he asked you next.

“Why can’t you even look at me?” he said in a tone much more broken than Sirius should sound like. You had only witnessed a few times over the five years you’d known each other. So you did look at him, straight in the eyes, and responded.

“Of course I can look at you.” You really didn’t know how to handle this. You didn’t even know what exactly it was about.

“Since we returned in September, you don’t want to, though,” after a short pause, he asked, “We’re friends, right? Friends tell each other things.”

“Of course we’re friends. Why would you question that?” you said immediately.

He looked at you, intensely, expectantly. But you really didn’t know what he could want you to say. There was no way he knew about your crush, right?

Seeing that he wasn’t going to receive what he had hoped for, he said with a clipped tone, “Then why didn’t you tell me about you and Remus? Or James and Pete, for that matter?”

Now you were really bewildered. You wanted to ask what he meant, but he clearly wasn’t finished.

“I bet you told Marls and the other two, though, always hanging around with each other now. I mean, I could understand if you’d just started and were figuring things out, but once you’re having sex, I think it’s serious enough to mention it to people you claim are your family!” he finished, shouting.

“What do you- Are- Sex!? With who!?”

“Well, Moony of course, unless you were doing it with Marlene in the third-floor bathroom on Thursday too!”

"For fuck's sake, have you taken something!? Or is this some very elaborate prank!?" You didn’t allow him to respond just yet. "I’m not having sex with anyone, I’m not in a relationship with anyone, Marlene only pierced my ears," you said, pointing at your ears. "And I really don’t think that Remus fetching me from the Forbidden Forest is that significant to mention!"

Sirius seemed surprised. You rarely screamed or shouted, preferring to just hex someone if they were going too far. Of all the questions now flooding his mind, he asked,

"What were you doing in the Forbidden Forest?"

"I was smashing up some rocks, if it’s that important to you. And I left the centaurs one of the phoenix feathers I found last year in the Astronomy Tower, along with a very sincere apology letter the next day, so I doubt they’ll want to hunt me down. It was only a pile of rocks anyway; I made sure not to harm any trees or animals."

"Why?"

"You know centaurs are the ones that planted and protect the forest. They demand respect. I doubt me coming in all unreasonable and entitled to destroy parts of it, even as irrelevant as a pile of-" At that, he interrupted you.

"I don’t care about the centaurs! Why were you wrecking rocks, and if that’s what happened on Monday, why are you cross with me?"

"I— I’m not cross with you, and it doesn’t matter why. It’s stupid, and I’m dealing with it."

"Maybe I could help, you know. Or at least you could have told me."

You were getting sick of his apparent entitlement to all your issues and that, mixed with still not fully gone anger at him over the Ravenclaw, prompted you to say with a clipped tone, "Well, you seem pretty preoccupied these days. I wouldn’t want to get groped by accident."

His eyes widened, cheeks reddened, and his mouth opened and closed in a repeated cycle. He was visibly thinking about what to say next.

"Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Seeing me with those girls?"

You barely even registered saying, "You forgot the Ravenclaw already?"

At that you saw a hint of a smirk on his face, but what was more noticeable was the step he took towards you. "Did it bother you? Seeing me like that?"

Oh, you definitely didn’t like the direction this conversation was going. So you quickly tried to escape the looming vision of actually confessing your feelings to him.

"Who wouldn’t be bothered? People do go to that Hall to eat their food. You and whoever else was your conquest of the week were trying to eat each other."

He only inched closer. "No one else was demolishing the forest because of that, though, were they?"

You faltered. You were losing this argument, and you’d have to go past Sirius to reach your wand, which you had inconveniently left on the bed.

"You know, a lot of things just started to make sense to me..." He was almost within touching distance.

"Well, enlighten me then," you said, hoping your tone was more confident than you felt.

"The way you distanced yourself, wouldn’t look at me too long... I thought I might have done something bad or wrong, but now I’m realising," and after a pause, in a much huskier tone, "I actually might have done the opposite."

He did touch you now, caressing your arm. "I’m going to ask you something, Y/N, and I need you to be honest." The hand went from your arm to your chin, directing your head to look him in the face. You hadn’t realised you had been looking just past his shoulder for most of that monologue.

The only thing you did realise, was that Sirius was tall.

"If I kissed you right now, would you return it?"

You were overwhelmed. And, more importantly, starting to get hard. No.

But apparently, your subconscious decided to answer for you, and you nodded.

Sirius didn’t wait a second. He leaned in, practically attacking your mouth.

The kiss was rough, with teeth clashing at first. You supposed it was probably clumsy, but you didn’t have anything to compare it with.

You tried to mimic what Sirius was doing, and in a moment of daring (you were still a Gryffindor, after all), you bit his lower lip, eliciting a low groan from Sirius.

You usually learned best through practice, and kissing apparently wasn’t an exception. You became more confident with each second his lips moved with yours, and when you felt his tongue brush against your lower lip, you instinctively opened your mouth.

The tongue slipped in immediately, accompanied by a satisfied hum from Sirius. It was strange, the sensation of it in your mouth at first, against your own. But you quickly found yourself enjoying it, and the fact that his hands were now firmly on your waist, running up and down, certainly didn’t discourage you.

For someone who detested the very thought of being overpowered, you surprisingly enjoyed Sirius’ dominant position right now.

You rested your arms on his shoulders and started running your right hand through the hair on the back of his head, eliciting another groan, of satisfaction, you hoped.

You began to move your tongue along with his, and sooner than you realised, it became a battle. You were growing more and more eager to explore his mouth as well.

The fact that you were currently making out with your long-term crush was not lost on you, nor did it fail to make you even more aroused with each passing second. You had imagined a moment like this many times. In fact, you had imagined many other moments, and seeing how physical Sirius was, there was a big chance of them turning into memories or maybe, if you dared to think, regular occurrences.

In fact, you wouldn’t settle for anything less. You were not interested in becoming one of many in the long line of Sirius Black’s dalliances, as Remus liked to say sometimes.

And so, with great effort - both in actually willing yourself to do it, as well as managing against Sirius’ strength - you pulled away.

His eyes were half-lidded, pupils dilated, but a brow started to rise in question.

"I’m not ruining our friendship for a week of fun with you, Sirius," you said, still breathless, but it was clear you were being frank right now.

"I’m not either," he responded. "I want it to be more," he said.

"What are you saying?" you asked with a smirk, knowing very well what, but still wanting to hear it.

He rolled his eyes playfully. "And you complained about James’ flair for dramatics," he said, and immediately dropped to one knee and took your hand. "Y/N L/N, will you, the breathtaking vision of enchanting beauty, the enthralling light of brilliance, do me the honour of allowing me to become your partner in love and life?" he asked in an over-dramatic tone.

You laughed and said in the same manner, "Sirius Black, your words have melted my heart completely. I’d be thrilled to become your boyfriend."

He pretended to cry, followed by a quite amusing spectacle of pretending to die out of sheer joy, and then stood up, held you to him, and kissed you again, this time more tenderly. This kiss didn’t seem desperate but wasn’t chaste in any way either. You pulled him closer by his shirt, having your chests press together. He seemed very satisfied with it.

He was starting to pull your sweater off when the doors burst open with James in the front yet again, this time shrieking. Remus, who apparently joined him and Peter in the common room during your time alone with Sirius, said, "Turns out you were right, they were suffocating each other... Not in the way you predicted though," he added with a low chuckle.

Peter’s face was as red as a beet, and James just stared. After a while, he said, "I call you both my brothers, so it’s incest, you know. I’ll tell my mum."

"You’re just worried I’ll cut into your cuddle time with him," you said to James, receiving a laugh from Remus and a smirk from Sirius that contradicted his severe tone.

"He could never cut into that, Jamie, you don’t have to worry."

James decided to just shove him with a laugh as a response.

[hisyntha]

The Bartender

WARNING: This story contains EXPLICIT CONTENT and you are here by WARNED. Read at your own risk. Oral, three-some/ mention of four-some, vulgar language

A/N: thank you so much for reading, this is posted on AO3. I enjoyed writing this a lot so I hope you enjoy it as well. I recently started watching supernatural again and couldn’t help myself, anyway, ENJOY!!! 💕✨

It was an unusually slow night at the bar, with only a handful of patrons scattered about, nursing their drinks and chatting quietly. As the door swung open, the bar's calm atmosphere was shattered, and my gaze was drawn to the trio like a magnet. The two men, their suits a stark contrast to the casual attire of the other patrons, exuded an air of confidence and authority. The taller man, with his long hair and chiseled features, seemed to embody the phrase "tall, dark, and handsome," while his companion, sporting a Tex-turned-crew cut, appeared more rugged and rough around the edges. The young woman, dressed in a fitted dress that accentuated her curves, trailed behind them with an air of quiet compliance. As they approached the bar, their eyes scanned the room with an unspoken understanding, as if they were on a mission.

My gave warm and welcoming smile before I asked, "What can I get ya?" My hands moved on their own, quickly whipping up a tequila shot and pushing it forward to the shorter man. His smirk was a mixture of amusement and mischief, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as our eyes met.

“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.” He shot me a quick wink before slamming the empty shot glass down on its rim. I nodded grabbing a cup and filling it with ice before looking to the taller one.

As I poured the whiskey with a gentle flourish, I turned to him with a sly smile, my fingers drumming a tantalizing rhythm on the counter. "And what about you?" I purred, my voice husky as I raised an eyebrow, my free hand resting suggestively on my hip, hoping my tight fitted clothes would draw him in closer. He gave me a slight, uncomfortable, look before glancing at their female companion who stood between them, not exactly paying attention to me. I kept my flirtatious smile up, but deep own, I was hurt and taken aback by the look he gave me. Something was off with this one, it only seemed to make me want him more. I’ll just have to up my game.

With a courteous tone, “I’ll just have a draft,” his eyebrows arching slightly as he did so, his lips compressing into a subtle line. My eyes locked onto his, my mind whirling with tantalizing thoughts as I looked him over again. I couldn't help but bite my lip, my thoughts conjuring up images of him in a different light – one that left me trembling with anticipation and my heart racing with excitement. My hand reached under the bar, slightly bent over knowing my breast will definitely catch his interest. With a quick pull, slightly bouncing, I pop the bottle cap off and placed it in front of him. His gaze averted me before he turned around, once more scanning the bar. I hid my frown turning to the petite woman, but before my lips even parted she spoke up.

"I'll take a shot, whatever you prefer," she said, her voice as smooth as honey, yet devoid of any warmth or flirtation. Her words hung in the air, and I noticed her gaze linger on me, waiting for a response. Without thinking, I crafted a buttery nipple and slid it across the bar to her. A faint furrow appeared on my brow as I turned away, feeling an inexplicable tension in my chest. There was something unsettling about her, something that piqued my curiosity. I'd met many people before, effortlessly reading their emotions and intentions, but this trio was different. I needed a breath of fresh air. I looked to my coworker, giving him a quick way to take over the bar before I slipped out to the storage room then out the back door to the empty alley way.

I lit a cigarette and took a long drag, savoring the bitter taste as I paused to inhale the toxins. The cool night air filled my lungs, and I let out a slow exhale, feeling the stress of the evening's events begin to dissipate. As I stood in the alleyway, lost in thought, I shake everything off dropping the half cigarette and stepping it out. I made my way back inside, deciding to take a chance on striking up a conversation.

“So, you guys aren’t from around here are you?” I give my best smile watching the three. I noticed the paperwork spread out on the counter top of the bar as the woman began to quickly shuffle it back together into the folder she had.

“Uh, no we aren’t.” The taller one gave another tight lipped smile, placing his empty bottle in front of me. I quickly pop another one from him trading for the empty one.

“I see,” the tension seemed to rise in my chest, but they seemed as calm as daisies. “Well, if you’re staying for a bit longer I’d love to show you around.” The shorter one seemed to chuckle lightly, leaning on the bar, a flirtatious smile playing on his lips.

“I’d love to,” he paused waiting for me.

“Oh, Amy.” I smile softly, his eyes trailing me up and down.

“Amy.” He repeated softly that earned an elbow jab in his ribs. He hissed glancing at the women, but the taller one hid his amusement by drinking his beer. “well, I’m Dean and that’s my brother Sam.” He jesters to him and his brother while his other had loosened his tie like he hated wearing it. I raised a brow taking note that they were brothers, I wouldn’t have guessed that. Dean opened his mouth but was cut off.

“I’m Y/N.” Her voice never changed from earlier. My brows raised slightly but quickly shaking the expression away. I study her a small moment while her gaze was fixed elsewhere. Her skin was flawless, not a scar or pimple in sight, long hair pulled in a tight pony tail, curves of her body well accentuated by her dress. I couldn’t help the slight jealousy I had building up in my chest by looking at her. I finally shook the thoughts away pressing a smile.

“Well, Sam, Dean and Y/N,” I began, “If you need anything while in town, you know where to find me.”

———

I watched as the trio finished their drinks and left the bar, and I couldn't help but feel an unexplainable urge to follow them. I excused myself to my coworker, claiming I needed to leave early and for him to close up without me. My mind racing with a growing sense of curiosity. Without being seen, I slipped out of the bar and into my car, the engine purring to life as I blended into the night. I kept a discreet distance, my eyes fixed on the Impala as it led me to a rundown motel on the outskirts of town. As they pulled into the parking lot, my brow furrowed once more. My curiosity was sparked by the unusual choice of a motel on the outskirts of town, a place that seemed to be perpetually shrouded in a thin layer of neglect and disrepair.. The shorter man emerged from the vehicle, his movements calculated as he unlocked the door to room 217. The other two followed, their gazes scanning the area with an air of caution before disappearing into the dimly lit room. My eyes lingered on the door, my mind whirling with questions. What were they doing here? And why did I feel an unshakeable sense of unease as I watched them disappear into the shadows?

I hesitated, grappling with the conflicting thoughts racing through my mind. I knew I shouldn't be here, and I certainly shouldn't have followed them, but I had. I quietly closed my car door, my footsteps silent as I crossed the parking lot to the opposite side of the motel. The forest loomed behind the motel, a dark and foreboding presence. A light flickered on in one of the windows, illuminating the room I assumed was theirs. I crept closer, crouching low to peer through the glass. Dean sat on the bed's edge, flipping through channels on the TV while his brother hunched over his laptop at the table. My brow furrowed in confusion wondering where their female companion had vanished to. Just as I was pondering this, the bathroom door swung open, and she emerged, her robe clutched tightly around her small frame. I ducked just in time, holding my breath as she turned towards the window. My heart pounded in my chest like a drum, my breaths coming in short gasps as I feared she might have seen me. I remained frozen for a few tense moments before slowly turning back to peer in, my eyes widening and my mouth parted a small gasp. Y/N’s robe was off her body and she stood before Dean naked. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. Why is she naked in front of them both?

“What the fuck?” I let the words fall from my lips. Quickly, I glance behind me seeing only the forest still standing silently. I turn slowly to look through the window, my hands pressing to the brick of the shabby motel reminding me this is real, what was happening right before my eyes was indeed, real.

"Dean," she said, her arms crossing over her breasts. A small smirk playing on Deans lips as he tossed the remote onto the other bed, his attention fixed solely on her. Her expression clearly showed she was upset, but I struggled to make sense of the situation. "Do you like her more?" she demanded. Dean's gaze flicked to Sam, who watched with an air of amusement, his hands clasped together in a relaxed pose as he leaned back into his seat. My brow furrowed at Sam's state of relaxation while Y/N stood there.

“Who?” Dean finally replied after a long pause then snapped his fingers, “OOH! The woman on the tv?” He playfully teased going to reach out for her waist, but she pulled away giving him a threatening glare that I could even feel through the glass. “The women at the bar?” He raised a brow, still having that teasing smirk. I watched as Y/N just stared at him for a moment before slowly swaying her way to Sam, who openly removed his clasped hands and letting her take a seat in his lap. His hands finding themselves resting under her breast and the other wrapped around her frame to grip her hip. I bite back a whimper, my chest tightening seeing how large his hands were compared to any other mans. Just one hand engulfed her body, a snippet of jealously filled my chest.

I watched as Sam nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, her lips parting and letting a soft moan escape them. He then pulled away slightly, giving his brother a look before attacking her neck once more while his hand cupped her breast and the other gripped her hip tightly pulling her closer to his chest. Dean only tightened his jaw, his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed saliva. Y/N only continued to whimper and moan softly, keeping steady eye contact with Dean. I couldn’t pull my eyes away while Sam only moved her to sit directly on his erection and spread her legs for dean to watch in silent pain. Sam’s long fingers found their way between her folds, his middle and ring finger gently caressing her clit. I swallowed the salvia building up in the back of my throat. I felt like a creep watching him fondle her, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. At this point, I was to invested and I had to admit aside form the jealousy, I wanted to watch.

“Y/N,” Deans voice pulled my attention to him. Sam stopped, to see what his brother had to say. She eyed him, sitting up, purposely grinding herself against Sam to earn a grunt from the taller one. I could see the dying, begging look from here, Dean wanted her too. “I want you,” He began again, “only you.” His voice raspy and deep with a hint of pleading behind it, as if he might even choke if she said no. She eyed him for a bit before lifting a finger, curling it, allowing him to come over. He stood, hesitating before taking a few steps in front of them. Sam’s hands lifted towards her breasts once more, cupping them while his finger and thumb pinched her nipples, letting them roll between his fingers. Dean lowered himself between her legs, one hand on her knee while his lips pressed to the other, leaving a trail of kisses into her inner thigh. She gasped slightly at the soft touch of his tongue lightly dragging on her out folds, teasing her before his tongue dove deeply into her. Another moan came from her, louder than the last, she went to close her legs on him, but his hands held them apart. Sam grabbed her wrists in one hand and his other held her throat.

“Shh,” Sam cooed in her ear, “you’ll wake the neighbors.” He then tilted her head up so their lips met. Dean moaned into her, his lips pulling away with a popping kiss, his lips and chin glistening from the mixture of her wetness and his saliva.

“I love the way you taste.” The comment hung in the air while he leaned back down, his tongue working faster to please her. Her hips bucking with the friction earning a throaty moan into Sam’s mouth who savored it with his own moan in response. Her leg lifted to push dean away, his head tilted with a pleased smile. “All done?” He propped her foot on his shoulder, holding her ankle.

She shook her head as her lips parted, “I’m not even close.” A small smirk played across her lips. Dean and Sam shared a lustful look to each other, Dean pulling her off his brother’s lap to connect their lips while Sam begins to remove his clothes. Sam pulls her away from Dean catching her lips, deepening the kiss while Dean glared at his brother removing his own clothes. With swift motion dean stood behind Y/N, kissing the side of her neck and shoulder, his hands finding their way to her breast. Sam continued to kiss her, stealing every moan and breath that escaped her. I finally looked away in disbelief, pressing my back to the cold brick wall of the motel. Their voices echoed through the window, each moan sending a shiver down my spine. A loud “yes” and “oh god” from Y/N brought me to look back through the glass. My lids couldn’t get any wider, Sam, leaning against the wall, held Y/N just by her thighs, her legs spread apart while dean stood between her. His hands gripped her thighs just below Sam’s larger ones. My eye stuck on their cocks, slowly moving in an out of her, the way her chest arched and her eyes rolled back. A ghostly feeling ran through the lower parts of my body, as if I could feel it, the pain and pleasure being received by the brothers.

“I guess they startd without me.” A rugged raspy voice, followed by the swooshing of wind startled a yelp out of me, throwing myself away from the window to fall on my butt. My eyes darted to a man in a trench coat who only watched through the window, the erection clearly showing in his pants. I continued to blink looking to him when he finally laid his eyes on me. I sat there, shaking, seen as I had been found by this, man who appeared from no where. He approached me, my heart beating loud by how close he knelt down before me. He raised a hand, two fingers pressed to my forehead, “Goodnight.” Was the last thing I heard, my eyes fluttering close and the cold grass caught me.

[vibingandsimping]

This may be unlikely but what about good, morally upright Tav with Gortash but she isn't pre tadpole Druge anymore? She's all about saving people's lives and standing up for the 'little' man

He despises this. He mourns the loss of his lover. Gortash isn’t sure why he keeps you around at this point.

You’re constantly attempting to foil his plans. Destroying his Steel Watch was the first move you made against him. He spent so much time curating those metallic beasts only for you to explode the factory. Do you have any clue the gold and effort those required? He held out after that and hoped it was a sign that you had a darker side still. That was a power move and when he knew you before you were all about showing your capabilities. He had hope that you’d prevail and become his dark assassin again. His right-hand and soon to be ruler. If he had known the tadpole would’ve wiped your memory, he would’ve done everything to prevent your infection.

You persisted. Doing everything that was unlike the you he knew. Saving lives and nourishing them was not yourself. You were a ruthless and bloody killer. Unafraid to hold your knife to his throat if he said something you disapproved of. The person he had fallen in love with was gone. He thought himself devoid of most emotion. Gortash was convinced his ability to hurt was long gone after the torment Raphael put him through. That was proven wrong every time he saw your face. His nails digging into his palm and his throat tightening. He still held his facade and spoke with a tender gaze. Even if he ached for the you he knew to return- you stood before him.

Gortash vowed to find a way to get you back. So the two of you could return to carefully crafted plans. Little did he know you also vowed. You vowed to redeem him. Make him a worthy ruler and no longer a power-hungry tyrant.

It was only a matter of who would prevail.

[legendofzoodles]

How the Chain solves dungeon puzzles

Time has been doing this since before his first puberty so he’s got it down to a science. With decades of experience he’d probably rely on that heavily when approaching any dungeon puzzle, and automatically pay attention to certain things like the design, who might have created it and the items he finds there to give him a leg up when it’s time to use ye olde noggin. That being said, since he has been doing this since he was a child I feel like he’d 100% rage if things got too difficult. 

What? You think he survived the Water Temple because of patience and controlling his emotions? Goddess no, he was mentally 9 when he painstakingly got through it and it broke him. He now has a deep seeded hatred for all water based puzzles. 

Warriors on the other hand, has spent a lot of time managing armies and little to no time in a room devoid of sunlight- unless it was shutting himself away in his office to crunch some overdue paperwork. Don’t get me wrong he’d crush any sort of puzzle where the solution is simply beating up a room full of monsters or the dungeon boss, but traditional puzzle he might struggle with. A lot of Zelda puzzles require an ‘out of the box’ kind of thinking that probably doesn’t come naturally to the ‘by the books’ Captain. 

Since back in the day Twilight had Oocca and her son to teleport him out of the temple when he got tired, low on supplies or bored so if he can help it he won’t stick around longer than he needs to. That said he’d still really enjoy his time there, silently taking in the atmosphere and ambience of the dungeon. 

Also, according to the 2000s Zelda fandom TP’s dungeon puzzles were the most difficult of the series. I’d wager that Midna, rather than helping out (outside of her being a companion type character), would’ve either cryptically teased the answer if she figured it out before him to poke fun or simply not have taken an interest and just nagged at him to hurry up. Meaning he solved them mostly on his own and therefore got really good at it.

Sky definitely used to chat with Fi as he solved puzzles back in his adventure, sharing thoughts, getting hints and occasionally voicing frustration. Because of this, he would definitely collaborate with whoever’s exploring with him and if he’s on his own then he’ll just talk to himself. Helps him think.

He’s the type to overthink every problem presented to him, to the point where he’d often invent a very convoluted solution when an obvious one was staring him in the face ignored. And unless there’s someone there to point it out he’ll never notice. 

Like Time, Legend’s got a lot of experience dungeon crawling, I’d argue more since judging by Time’s armour he hasn’t been travelling a whole lot recently, so he’d also be relying on that experience. When he was younger, dungeon puzzles were a blast to figure out but now they’ve all just kind of bled together. There’s nothing he hasn’t really seen before in some shape or form, no tricks for the deity’s to pull that will surprise him. 

He’d just breeze through each puzzle or trap like: “Lame,” or “Seen it,” or “Hey...the spider’s new,” yawning as he went. I feel though if he were paired up with Warriors (he could act nonchalant while Warriors is jumpy at everything) who’s new to all this or Hyrule how’s only ever seen really simplistic dungeon puzzles it could spark that joy he once had. 

Wild would unashamedly break the system. Either accidently while finding creative way to cheat or to intentionally carve out his own shortcut. Not so much out of frustration, he could absolutely solve it they way the designers intended if he wanted to, trouble is he rarely has any interest in doing that. He used to ruin the carefully constructed puzzles (most of) the Sheikah monks crafted specifically to test him- right in their faces!- and they rewarded him regardless of the damage he caused. He’s been spoiled. I can imagine him blasting a way out only to turn around, go back in and intentionally destroy the rest of the puzzles for the sake of completion and loot.  

Members like Wind, Hyrule and Time on a bad day would 100% support this method, the others would be horrified, with Legend somewhere in the middle.

Four is a very methodical sort of problem solver, not one to let his past experience cloud his judgment and restrict him to assumptions rather than trying out something new. As a blacksmith who’s probably gotten to learn about how other cultures craft their weapons he probably has a deep appreciation for the dungeons design and would be the first to point out what certain quirks of the building mean and what tribe left their mark there. Whenever he may feel agitated for not understanding a puzzle all he needs to do is walk around and look at some historic architecture to keep Blue at bay. 

For this reason he may be one of the slower ones to complete a puzzle, but at least the walls swirling patterns may give him inspiration for a cool new sword handle. Not everyone would be able to relate to his eye for detail though. 

Four: The paving looks amazing with all these unique carvings, don’t you think?

Hyrule: [grazing a hand over the stone] Ah yes, the floor is made out of floor. 

Similar to Warriors Hyrule hasn’t really seen any complex dungeon puzzles, but unlike him he has a more creative ‘out of the box’ way of thinking, which would give him an edge. He’d probably get easily distracted though, lured away from the puzzle by a hidden passage or another route he hadn’t checked out, yet would somehow end up discovering every nook and cranny in the entire dungeon has to offer without much trouble.    

Wind is not really a fan of them. Unless it’s for a specific purpose like rescuing someone or to beat up a monster he’ll actively avoid them. But if he had to he’d try to get through it as quickly as possible by literally just trying whatever first pops in his head. He’d rush past and ignore any sort of hints the designers might have given him and try to brute force his way though. When it eventually works he’ll immediately forget the solution though, so don’t bother asking how he got out just be glad he did, like Grandma would. 

He’s not the type to ‘stop and smell the roses’ like Four, or just enjoy the atmosphere like Twilight, but he’s too polite (thanks to Grandma) to go around destroying ancient masonry like Wild. 

Who do you think would make up the best teams (2- 4 people) if the chain were split up in a dungeon? 

I’m thinking Sky, Four and Hyrule because they’d go at a slow pace chatting the whole time, with Four teaching the other two about who built the dungeon and Hyrule encouraging them to explore every room. Or maybe Legend, Warriors and Wind, with the latter two trying really hard and Legend supervising and making fun of them. Leaving Time, Twilight and Wild, where Twilight would struggle to keep Wild from blowing them up and Time being seconds away from joining him. 

~~~

Thanks for reading! 

Masterlist

Other headcanons: 

Parkour team

Honorary Gorons

How each member of the chain laughs

[hiatusdeity]

one stays shackled

art by sarii.draws

astarion / gender neutral reader

summary: astarion had managed to escape cazador’s hell, but now with the offer of ascending himself on the line, he has to decide whether to save the spawn who kept him from shattering apart or to kill them to gain power.

astarion never thought he’d see the sun again. He briefly remembered that in his old life, he found it to be a marvel, that his skin had once been not as pale. In Cazador’s halls, it was nothing but cold, a temple of sorrow, a beacon of silence.

The sun. He wondered if he could step into daylight for just a second, to bathe in the warmth it bestowed, to allow him a moment of peace. But alas, the world wasn’t kind, ever since his apparent rescue, he had learnt that the world was entirely cruel. Evil had dug its way into his skull, snuffing out every trail of hope. When the wounds on his back burned, a twisted fantasy came to mind, it was just the sun, it was warm today.

when the halls were freezing, gusting with an icy breeze, he deluded himself into thinking that it was spring, just a cold day, that if he opened his eyes he would find a bed of flowers with their petals shifting from the wind’s weight. When he was sentenced to eating bugs, he tried his best, through teary eyes, to believe his belly was full and warm, that he was positively stuffed after a nourishing meal.

When all was lost, when all was nothing, you were there.

You had arrived last, the final spawn to join them. Astarion had not cared at the time, you would be a mere puppet soon, devoid of any emotion. He certainly didn’t want whatever defeat you would succumb to, to affect him. His thread of hope would not be cut, no matter how frayed it already was.

But you sought him out, after everything mind numbing order Cazador gave, your resolve was not squandered completely. Every night, Astarion would return to his so called room, a pile of rags on the floor, and he would find a myriad of vermin barely alive. You hunted leftover’s for him, despite how sickly they tasted, it gave astarion an ounce more energy to survive Cazador’s painful favouritism.

You would whisper to him, as the months went on and you both couldn’t sleep, you told him stories, some true, some fiction, your hushed voice was heard only by him. And he noticed, as the years went by, your apparent truthful and real stories became more jumbled, you were forgetting.

You were attentive to him, he was sure you would bow to his every whim if Cazador wasn’t able to completely overrule your decisions. His slither of hope expanded, all was not lost, it could be found again, with you. Every painful beating was met with your gentle touch, a squeeze to his hands, a kiss to his temple. He was almost sure you never slept, opting to watch over him whenever he tried to catch a wink of slumber.

in such a wretched place, he had never expected any sort of compassion or kindness to reach him.

And he despised that your nature was crafted that way, even after being displaced on a nautiloid and travelling with a group of adventurers for weeks, even after being able to gleefully enjoy the sun, to drink from tav, to finally feel his belly warm and satiated, even after drinking, having free will and sleeping with someone.

you faced him with no malice.

when he had arrived in baldur’s gate once again, now with a whole party on his hip, his only priority was killing Cazador.

but then Raphael.

Raphael’s admittance on what was scarred on his back, a pact in infernal language carved into his skin. An opportunity to be killed and forever used as a pawn for power, or an opportunity to kill and never be a pawn again.

he tried not to think of you, he let the fantasies of finally being free rule him. What would it be like? to never be controlled again? what would it be like, to control?

he was naive to think choosing to ascend would be so easy.

when he saw your face, all beaten and bruised, his resolve faltered. A stab to the gut, it was evident that in his absence, you had become the favourite victim. Perhaps even punished for letting your lover leave. You looked beyond malnourished, tired, and fragile. Your attempt at smiling at him was pitiful, puffy purple lips parting to reveal bloody teeth and bleeding gums.

he had been so sure, that he could kill you, that you would forgive him, it was in your nature.

but as his red eyes met your similar crimson, he felt rage boil in his veins, the overwhelming need to protect you. He was stronger now, a force to be reckoned with, a primal need to protect what he deemed was his filled his mind.

Shame bubbled behind his sockets, and he willed the tears not to well up and fall. You had done everything you could’ve possibly done to make him at peace in this hell, you had been his unfairly gifted angel.

You had been shackled to a wall for weeks, tortured and abused relentlessly. Astarion swallowed the bile in his throat, he knew if you had been able to escape, you would’ve made sure he would’ve done so too.

“i’m sorry my darling.” He had choked, tears streamline against his porcelain skin, “i have sinned against you in ways that are unforgivable.” he admitted, reaching forward to unclasp the too tight chains that held you down. Your wrists and ankles were a dark purple, inflamed bruises covered your whole body, and Astarion wanted nothing more than to beg, to beg for forgiveness.

no amount of begging would fix you.

you were different, he could see. You had lost your slither of hope, even the sight of him didn’t bring light to your eyes.

he had already killed you, by not coming back for you.

maybe it was best to end your suffering. his mouth itched for blood, he wondered if Cazador’s neck would be the first bared for him, or yours.

there might be a continuation of this, ending where you are spared and ending where you are killed. lmk what you guys think and if this was okay, love you pookies <33

[robo-writing]

once his love definitely not suspiciously “””””mysteriously dies and he only arrived in-time to see their dead body””””” i think the initial mourning phase is so strong that he permanently changes the room that’s the king’s (once royal couple’s) chambers bc of the emotional ties to it. he puts away their important items like their all made of porcelain to avoid getting dust and doesn’t let anyone even sleipnir touch it without his explicit watch and permission.

norse tradition has people burn their loves on a pyre but i don’t think he would be able to dispose of the body beyond gently giving them a decorated tomb and mausoleum so that they’re not disturbed. he somehow locks it with the energy unique to odin and sometimes he just sits by the casket unmoving, staring their sword in his hands

When you died, what little humanity he had left died with you. Consumed by grief, it took him hours to realize that you were gone, and that you would never return.

Sleipnir was the one to find his king on his hands and knees, clutching your lifeless body as tears fell heavy against his face. It was Sleipnir who eventually pulled away the grief-stricken king who was far too consumed in his thoughts to realize he was still speaking to your body as if you were alive. It was he who prepared the burial service and the construction of the mausoleum with a heavy heart, but nowhere as near as heavy as his Lord’s, who’s heart sunk him deeper and deeper into depression.

He couldn’t stand to lay in your bed anymore, after the first week he chose to sleep elsewhere in the castle and left the previous room locked and untouched, with him having the only key.

A portrait was commissioned of you, hung in the great halls that led to his throne room. Occasionally he could be seen staring at the painting of you, and those who were close enough swore that the king talked to it as if it were his wife.

He was always a cruel man, but something changed in the months that followed—it could be said that he truly lost himself in sadness, and that cruel man was a man no longer, but a monster. Even so, that same monster still clung onto the last vestiges of love, sat silently in the final resting place of his beloved, unmoving, stone-faced. It is here where he is visited by a ghost of his past, a being whom he believed to be myth, until he shed his earthy robed and let the grieving king witness his divinity in full view.

“I can bring her back,” it spoke to him, devoid of emotion. “I can save this world from itself, and you can live in harmony as you did before. All I would require is your loyalty.”

Barnabas did not need any convincing. As the ghostly figure disappeared from his view he unsheathed his sword, the one his wife crafted for him before her untimely death. A single thumb strokes the engraving upon the blade, her blessing every time he entered battle, and so he gives her the same blessing she gave him.

“Be safe, my love,” he says, placing a palm on the cold granite. “I will return, and we shall be together.”

[aerynwrites]

Conclave

Jayce x Viktor x Fem!Reader

Arcane Halloweek: Day 3 - Mages, Witches, and Wizards

A/N: Kind of went off the rails for this one lol - created a whole ass mage universe. not in the arcena universe, just kind of made my own. but it’s not really important lol. Hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: canon divergence, AU, angst, fluff, very vague mention of the fact that reader will outlive Jayce and Viktor, happy ending.

Un’beta read - apologies for any grammatical mistakes/spelling errors

The crimson wax seal stares up at you tauntingly, the carefully crafted sigil of house Narkissos laying broke in half in your haste to read the parchment it held closed. 

“No, no, no! Fuck!” Pieces of hair break off in your fingers as you grasp desperately at the strands, complete and utter fear for using through your veins as you pace across the room. 

You knew coming from an old house would come back to haunt you. You should have expected this - you can’t run from them forever. Not when they send for you personally. 

Not when they call a conclave.

There hasn’t been a conclave in thousands of years, you never anticipated having to attend one, preferring to keep to yourself and avoid all the silly rules they impose upon mages. 

Hell, you had planned to ignore a conclave call if you ever did get one, but the invitation wasn’t just for you. It had their names in it too. 

Which means they know. Which means you’re all in danger whether you attend the conclave or not. 

“Fuck!” The word rips from your chest in a powerful cry, shaking the room around you. 

Tinctures and other various tools are still rattling when the two people you are so afraid for, enter your workshop, worry clear on their faces. 

Your names leaves their lips in gentle whispers as familiar hands slide up your back before resting on your shoulders as you brace your hands on the desk - that damn seal mocking you as you stare down at it. 

The sigil is of a raven, beautiful wings spread as it clutches a skull in its talons. 

You used to find the picture to be a powerful symbol. But now…now it just feels like a message. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Viktor is the first to speak, his accented voice doing nothing to calm your turbulent emotions like it usually does. Nothing can calm you now, not Jaya as warm hands or Viktor's gentle words. 

Not when everything you hold dear is at risk. 

Fingers shakily grasp the delicate parchment that appeared on your desk, holding it up as explanation. 

“A conclave,” you whisper, voice unsteady. “They’re holding a conclave.”

Your lovers confusion is palpable as you turn around to face them, their hands falling to their sides as you lean against the desk. Jayce looks from you to Viktor then back again before speaking, hand fisting unsurely at his side. 

“And that’s…a bad thing? I thought mage conclaves were just to discuss changes or elect new members to sit on the council-“ 

“It’s not that simple!” You snap, immediately regretting it the moment Jayce’s face falls and Viktor reaches up to place a hand on his shoulder. “Shit I -“ You take a deep breath, the paper in your hand crinkling as you crush it in your fist. “I’m sorry. That is what they usually are. They may be dreadfully boring but they’ve never been dangerous not…not until now.” 

The words leave your lips in a whisper, and you can’t bring yourself to meet their eyes, as they look at you questioningly. 

“Why is this one different?” Viktor finally asks, cane thumping anxiously against the floor. 

“Because of you.” Your voice is firm, devoid of any previous emotion as the gravity of the situation finally settles in your stomach. “Mages…we’re expected to present those we chose as life partners. Usually it’s a cause for celebration as it’s usually a mage bonding with another mage and carrying on an old house but-“

“We’re human.” Jayce states, picking up on the implication of your words. 

You nod, swallowing thickly. “Yes. And they…the other mages, especially the council don’t…this-“ You gesture between the three of you. “This is unheard of. I can’t even think of an instance that it’s happened before and they…they aren’t fond of outsiders.” 

Jayce shakes his head, stepping forward as he speaks. “Then we just don’t tell them. You go to the conclave like normal and we’ll stay here, they don’t have to know-“ 

“Except they already do.” 

Viktor's voice is grim as he speaks, fingers curled against his chin in thought as golden eyes flick up to meet your own. “That is why you’re so upset.” 

You nod, unable to hold back the tears that have been burning at the back of your eyes since you read the dark ink scrawled neatly on the invitation. They bubble to the surface, coating your lashes as you try to blink them back. 

“Yes, I…They know about you, they know we’re together and I don’t-“ You choke on a sob. “I don’t know what they’re going to do.” 

Two sets of arms envelop you before you can break down further, the two bodies pressing up against you as Jayce and Viktor sandwich you between their embrace. 

“We’re here,” Jayce says, voice gentle as he presses a kiss to your temple. “And we’ll be here for whatever happens.”

Viktor hums his approval, one hand sliding down to intertwine his fingers with your own. “Jayce is right. We will be together, no matter what happens.”

───── 𖥸 ─────

Despite being together for years at this point, Jayce and Viktor are always in awe whenever you use magic, especially in such a grand way as transportation. 

Jayce of course had witnessed a spell like this as a child, but you always took a small sense of pleasured happiness at the way his eyes widen in child-like wonder as you paint runes in the air. 

The familiar blue haze fills the small clearing behind your house, casting the pallid grey morning in a calming azure light. 

The spell comes naturally to you, hands twirling your staff to form the intricate runes that make up the transportation spell until, with a grand wave of your arms and firm drive of the staff, all three of you are on your way. 

It happens in the blink of an eye and in a whirlwind of colors and stars until your feet are back on solid ground. Viktor stumbles slightly as the spell leave him and Jayce just a few inches from the ground, but Jayce is there to steady him as you take in your surroundings. 

The conclave meets in the same place each time. The Evereska Valley between two of the oldest mountain ranges in the world - the supposed birthplace of magic and mages as you know them. 

You never knew weather to believe the little stories that were told to you as a child of a drop of magic falling to the earth here in this valley, only to sprout and grow until the very first man came across it and was blessed with the gift of magic. 

But you cannot deny how power thrums through your veins every time you step onto these grounds. You can only hope you’d be powerful enough to protect Jayce and Viktor if it comes to that. 

Because you won’t let anything happen to them. Not if you can help it.

You had the transportation spell drop you three just outside the entrance of the conclave hall. Most mages teleport right inside, not wanting to bother either the extra walk. But you needed time - just a moment to collect yourself before you made your entrance. 

“Okay…” You take a deep breath, turning to your partners. “The conclave isn’t far, just through those doors but I…I wanted a moment to speak with you both.” 

Viktor steps forward at this, brows furrowed. “You’ve already told us everything about the conclave, prepared us for anything that could happen.” 

You nod, swallowing down the emotion that tries to bubble up. “I know.” You reach out to take their hands, stepping closer to them as you squeeze their hands firmly. “I love you both. No matter what happens, please know that.” 

Their demeanor soften at your words and before either of them respond, they each place a chaste kiss to your lips, Jayce placing an extra one to your forehead for good measure. 

“We know,” Jayce says, voice soft as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “Of course we know that. We love you too.” 

“No matter what.” Viktor adds. 

You nod, giving them a tight smile before linking your arms with theirs. Viktor on your right, and Jayce on the left. They know you have human partners, no point in trying to hide it. 

The large ornate doors of the conclave hall open automatically when you approach them, letting out a wave of conversation, music, and laughter. 

While the meetings themselves bore you to tears, you have to admit that the before and after are typically worth the days it takes to settle years worth of issues. 

Most of the commotion is coming from farther into the building, so you and your partners have several more yards before any eyes are on you, something you’re silently grateful for. 

Only when you reach the ends of the entryway do you pause, the music and conversation louder now that you are just on the other side of the curtain separating the grand hall from where you currently stand. 

Sensing your trepidation Jayce places a warm hand over your own on his arm just as Viktor places a gentle kiss to your cheek. 

It’s all the courage you need as Jayce pushes the curtain aside and the three of you enter the room. 

It’s almost comical how quickly silence befalls the room, covering it like a thick black cloud as all eyes fall on you. 

The only sound in the room now is the crackling of the two roaring fires at the center of the room, the hushed whispers as mages lean into one another, and the sporadic awkward cough. 

You want to die. You can feel the beginnings of another teleportation spell sparkling at your fingers tips. But before you can disappear and face the repercussions of that particular faux puss, a familiar face appears before you. 

“Ah (y/n), how nice of you to join us!” The man says, dark brown eyes sparkling beneath thick grey brows. “And I see you brought guests.” 

The room is still silent as he speaks, and your words dry up in your mouth. Jayce and Viktor don’t dare speak, having already been warned by you to not utter a word unless you have them the go ahead - too much room for error. 

Picking up on your utter discomfort, the older man hums in understanding before turning to face the room, waving ring clad hands around dismissively. 

“Everyone get back to business! You’ll have time to introduce yourselves later, this is a celebration after all, is it not?” The man laughs as he walks beside Jayce, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he continues. “Eat, drink! We have much time before proceedings begin!” 

As if on command, the room bursts with life again. Conversation explodes all around you as the musicians pick up their instruments once more, elegant music floating through the air as the man turns back to you, and you practically melt with relief. 

“Abraham!” Taking your arms from your partners you can’t help but wrap them around the older mage instead, his laughter warming your chest as he returns the gesture. 

“My little mage, it’s so good to see you.” He says, hugging you right before you pull away, looking up at him worriedly. 

“It’s good to see you too Abraham, but I…” You cast a glance at your lovers, heart clenching as their hands intertwine - confusion, wonder, and suspicion clear on their faces. “I’m scared Abraham. They asked for me to bring them, by name. And you know how most of them feel about outsiders I don’t…have you heard about what they want? What are they going to do?” 

Abraham shushes you, weathered hands coming to rest on your shoulders assuredly. “No harm will come to them, little mage. Not while I still stand - or you for that matter.” He chuckles, one hand sliding down to take yours. “I can feel the energy within you, can sense your connection to those two men.” He’s whispering now, voice low so only you can hear. “You are a noble house, a house of old. Do not let their archaic beliefs keep you from happiness. And I won’t either.” 

He steps away from you, words ringing in your ear as he addresses all three of you now. 

“Please,” he says, smile warm as he clasps his hands together, “eat, drink, enjoy yourselves. We will not begin the conclave until tomorrow after everyone rests. And both tonight and tomorrow your seats are beside me and my house.” 

Finally, Viktor speaks and you’re glad he knows it’s the appropriate time to do so, no risk of rebuke here. 

“Thank you. Your hospitality is most gracious, mighty Abraham.” 

Viktor bows his head slightly as he speaks, exactly like you taught him and Jayce. So, when Abraham lets out a deep bellowing laugh, the shock on Viktor's face is apparent. 

You send a glare towards the older mage, who only shakes his head, eyes sparkling with amusement as he looks at you. 

“Did you teach him that?” 

You scoff, Crossing your arms defensively. “Of course I did! Not all mages are like you Abraham, most of them are stuck up pricks! I had to teach them the old greetings so they wouldn’t get themselves in trouble!”

Abraham, laughter subsiding, nods and turns his attention to the two men behind you. “While she is correct in teaching you the old ways, please do not use them with me. Mages do not typically greet each other in this manner.” 

Jayce shakes his head. “But…we’re not mages.” 

“You are bonded to her.” Abraham gestures to you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “That places you on the same level and thus worthy of the same courtesy. Treat me as you would any of those close to you.” 

At this both men nod, giving their thanks before falling silent again. 

“Well, I don’t want to keep you. Thank you for the warm welcome Abraham, it was…I appreciate it more that you know. To have someone on my side.” You say, smiling at your old friend. 

He nods. “Of course. Now, enjoy the evening and if I don’t see you before you retire, come find me before we begin tomorrow. You do not have to face this alone.” 

And with that, he turns in a flourish of deep emerald robes and makes his way across the hall. 

───── 𖥸 ─────

The first evening passes without incident. No one said much of anything to you, which might sound like a good thing if it weren’t for the upturned noses and nasty glances you’d received all night. However, Abraham's presence and assurances had lulled you into a false sense of security, a feeling that allowed you to fall asleep peacefully in your provided chambers with your lovers at your side. 

A feeling that was ripped away from you almost the moment you stepped foot into the great hall the following morning. 

There was no great feast, no fresh fruit or pig roasting over the fire. Just hushed silence broken only by quiet whispers as you, Viktor and Jayce made your way to the seats beside Abraham, who looked more apprehensive than last night. 

“Abraham, what is it?” 

You can sense that something is wrong, and you can only hope and part that it has nothing to do with you and your partners. 

The old mages face is solemn as he shakes his head, gesturing subtly to someone walking into the middle of the room, indicating the conclave is about to begin. 

Whatever is bothering Abraham will have to wait, and you can only hope you, Jayce and Viktor get out of this unscathed. 

───── 𖥸 ─────

You almost forget about the trepidation swimming in your stomach as the conclave is called to order. As usual they start off with official business. Rules and laws that need to be touched on, any new important businesses, and any major news that needs to be shared. 

Shortly after it began, you had switched places with Jayce so you were between the two scientists and able to answer the dozens of questions they had for you. 

They were asked in hushed whispers, pure curiosity and intrigue present on their faces as they asked and you whispered the answer back. 

Your chest fills with warmth as you watch them take in all this information with awe. Humans have traditionally been scorned by mages. Most of them thinking magic above that of lowly humans. But you know that view comes from fear, fear that humans will turn magic against the very people who can wield it naturally. 

But Jayce and Viktor aren’t like that, it’s what made you fall in love with them. Their pure, unadulterated, love and interest for the Arcane and their desire to truly learn about it in hopes of helping those most in need. 

They’re doing more to help people than most of the mages in this room. Which is why, when your name echoes throughout the room and all eyes fall on you…

You decide to fight for this. Fight for them. 

You stand to your feet as Bertram Narkissos looks smugly at you, saying your name once more, quieter this time.

“I believe you have news to share with us?” 

The words are laced with faux curiosity, pretending as if he doesn’t already know the ‘news’ you have to share.

Hands clasped neatly in front of you, you don’t give into his goading, eyes firm as you speak. 

“I was under the impression that you were more than aware of the news I have to share, Bertram. Considering the…firm invitation.” 

You can’t keep the venom out of your words, watching as any false friendliness melts from the old mages face, dark brows falling over golden eyes. 

“Right.” He clips. “Then I suppose we should stop beating around the bush. You’ve chosen to bond with humans!” 

The uproar is almost immediate, as if he had announced you decided to bond yourself with a demon rather than two accomplished men. 

Voices lift into the air, gasps of shock, calls of outcry. 

“Humans?!”

“This has never been done-“

“Mages cannot consort with-“

But one voice rises above them all, once again calling your name with an icy coolness that makes you shiver. 

Ariadne Castemont, the head of one of the oldest mage houses, is standing at the council table, eyes fixed on you. 

She gestures to you, as she speaks. “Come onto the floor.” 

You obey without hesitance, but not without casting a glance to Jayce and Viktor who look at you worriedly. 

“It will be alright.” You tell them quietly, squeezing their hands before stepping away from the table to make your way into the middle of the room. 

Bertram stands to the side now, making you the center of attention in the center of the large hall. Your eyes never leave Ariadne’s deep purple ones, and you can only hope that she gives you a chance. Despite being head of the mages council, she is known for being fair and just, not hasty to decisions. 

Once in your place, she speaks once more. “Your bonding is a peculiar one. And as an old house, it makes me wonder what your motivations are.” She begins, eyes narrowing. “Mage numbers have dropped drastically in the last century, there are barely half the numbers we had before then, and it is of utmost importance to keep our race alive. The arcane is-“

“The center of all the universe.” You interrupt her to finish the well known words. “I’m aware of this. But more than anything I’m aware of the bigotry and hatred you all have for humans and anyone who isn’t a mage.” 

Your words cause another round of gasps to ripple quietly though the crowd, but you don’t let it deter you. 

“We hoard this ability, this gift, and use it for our own gain. We use it to heal our own and feast on more food than we could possibly eat. We use it for our own pleasure while people, humans and other races alike suffer terrible fates-“ 

“That is hardly our responsibility.” A humorless laugh from beside you guys you off, and you can’t stop the glare you send Bertram as he steps forward once more.

“We cannot be expected to worry ourselves with the plights of every lesser life form.” 

“Lesser?” You hiss, pure venom in your voice. “Is that why you all allowed it when mages laid waste to cities thousands of years ago? Killed millions of innocents? Is that why you all looked the other way, and moved on as if a genocide wasn’t committed?” Your eyes track around the room, feeling slightly triumphant when you see most mages look away from your gaze shamefully. 

“We are better than no one. And some of our actions are no better than the ‘lowly’ humans you claim to be superior too.” 

The room is silent following your outburst, and you think for just a sliver of a moment that you’ve got them. You’ve got them to understand or at least think about their backwards beliefs. 

But Bertram, ever the instigator, is not about to lose this fight so easily. 

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re teaching them the ways of the arcane.” 

At that, the room explodes once more, Louder and more chaotic than before as almost every mage shoots to their feet. Outrage is clear on their faces as they shout out in disbelief, questions coming out quicker than you can try to answer them. 

Not that they would be able to hear you anyway. 

The smirk on Bertrams face is infuriating, and you can feel your fingers tingling as you move towards him, anger and frustration manifesting in blue sparks at your finger tips. 

“ENOUGH!” 

The commanding roar is enough to silence the room almost instantly, all voices dying down as eyes fall to the owner of the voice. Abraham stands tall and all commanding at his seat, face pinched in a look of disappointment as his eyes travel over the room. 

“I believe it would do us all well to listen for once instead of speaking.” Abraham steps to the side and gestures to your partners who stand patiently behind him, as if ready to come out and join you on the floor. 

Which is exactly what they do. Jayce, followed by Viktor, make their way to join you in the center of the room, all eyes following their every move.l until they are right by your side, Jayce reaching out to give your hand a comforting squeeze.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” You whisper, words practically hissed out through clenched teeth as you look at your partners. 

Viktor only shrugs, that teasing little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It was Jayce’s idea. And I figured I might be able to help if needed.” 

You got to speak again but Jayce cuts you off, eyes pleading. “Just…trust me okay? Let me talk to them.” 

Fear and anxiety swirl violently in your belly, but as you take in their assuring gazes, you force yourself to back down. Giving them each one last look, you nod steeping back to the side to allow them room to speak. 

Jayce clears his throat. That all too familiar public persona taking over despite his nerves. 

“I know you all don’t trust us. Don’t trust humans, but I’d like to start with a story that might just explain why we started research into the Arcane.” 

The crowd murmurs begrudging agreeances, Abraham still looking fiercely at them, daring them to object. 

Jayce continues. 

“When I was just a child, a mage - possibly one you know - saved me and my mother as we were traveling through a mountain pass in a winter storm. He…he came out of nowhere when I thought all hope was lost. My mother had collapsed, and had the beginning signs of frostbite - I didn’t know what to do and then a figure came out of the storm…”

You watch in anticipated silence as Jayce spins his tale, the story you know all too well from the many times he’s told you. Explains the captivating blue light, the runes carved into the very sky above him and the multitude of colors as he and his mother were transported to safety in a meadow of flowers outside the mountains. 

You watch as Viktor steps up next, explaining how they partnered up but we’re still unable to understand certain parts of the arcane, some of their experiments dangerous or backfiring. Until they found you. 

You watch as slowly, almost one by one the mages’ apprehension and outrage start to melt away - instead replaced with thoughtful looks or even understanding. 

And when they are done, and Jayce thanks them for their patience and hearing them out, the room doesn’t erupt in chaos. 

Instead, low murmurs ripple through the room only being interrupted with a firm call of your name, Ariadne standing from her seat once more. 

You make your way out to the center of the room once more, this time unashamedly standing between your two partners and taking their hands in your own, finding comfort in their touch as they lean closer to you. 

“You admit you’ve been guiding these two men in the ways of magic?” She asks, voice neutral. 

You nod, no point in denying it. “Yes. Because they want to make a difference in the lives of those in need. They don’t want this power for themselves, but to use it to better the lives of those who need it most. Just like one of us did for Jayce.”

Ariadne looks perplexed for just a moment, brows pinching as she looks to you once more, eyes piercing. “And you have chosen to be bonded to them? You know your lifespan is vastly different-“ 

“We know.” You cut her off, taking in a shaky breath at the reminder of that sorrow that will come. “But…we are prepared for that. Content with that.” 

They squeeze your hands, and Viktor brings one up to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles in silent comfort as Ariadne takes in your response, turning to murmur to the other council members by her side. 

The hall is silent other than their indecipherable whispers, everyone waiting with bated breath until finally Ariadne speaks once more. 

“The council has decided,” she looks at you, and you can’t find it in yourself to breathe.

“The bond will be blessed, and following our traditions - it will be celebrated as well.” 

Finally, the hall erupts once more, but this time it’s in joyous applause and calls of congratulations. 

There are those few, Bertram being one of them, who turn up their noses and exit the hall. But most stand smiling as you turn to embrace your lovers, melting into their warm arms. 

“Thank you.” You whisper, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks. 

Both of them respond in kind, words of love and devotion whispered against your lips or hair as they hold you close. 

There’s still a lot of work to be done in the world of mages and the arcane, but….

Maybe this is a step in the right direction. And you’d have your boys by you every step of the way. 

No matter what. 

[cadcnce-archived]

your name: Edea Lee

your age: 18

your perfect date: Tell me what 'you know' means and i will tell you

make out in private or in public?: Tell me what 'you know' means and i will tell you

do you like to cuddle?: Tell me what 'you know' means and i will tell you

tell me something about you: Tell me what 'you know' means and i will tell you

why do you want to be my valentine?: Tell me what 'you know' means and i will tell you

valentine application :: open

Edea's approach is swift. Unsurprising given her craft and skill. But as Wylan braces himself for what he thinks is going to be a cheeky dialogue he sees her expression suffused with a rarely seen determination. For all Wylan's intentions to deflect a retaliation with his ever present humor and dismissiveness her doggedness gives him no chance. Well, maybe this is just her wanting an apology, right? Why is his mind racing all the way to that conclusion? Was that hopefulness? No, that's not good. He'll just have to play it up to eleven if only to keep the woman at an arm's length.

But Edea is closer than that now- the 'application' planted into his face as hers burns with something curiously genuine. Was she... upset? Fuck. Wylan's off guard now, the bewilderment betraying his own emotions and robbing him of the shield of a smirk.

"Whoa, Edea. Slow down- what're you doing with that piece of- pfuh!" It's a brief respite, and probably the last he'll be afforded before he sees what was written. As if it weren't obvious enough on the form- written over and over again, line after line- she taps it for extra emphasis.

What did you mean?

"What I meant? Seriously? C'mon that was... it was just... having fun. It's a fun thing to fill out and I thought I could just- maybe you'd- What do you want me to say?!" Wylan can't meet her gaze, too shaken to face that kind of emotional offense with her pleading expression. Not to mention he's devoid of any comebacks that would spare him having to be exposed or seen.

But you wanted this, didn't you?

Maybe to a degree?! He doesn't know! Damnit! But he needs to say something. Quick. Just standing around in blundering silence is making him look a bigger fool. Gesturing hands. Broken breaths. His gaze meets hers finally as he starts to find some words, and that's a mistake if there ever was one. And there were many. There's a thump in his chest. You know what you meant.

"Shit. Okay."

"I meant that... I wanted to be your valentine. Okay? And I'd like to go on the date with you."

His breath hitches. There you go. Now you can shoot me down and make me look like an idiot. It's done!

[mania-sama]

rule #16 - movies

Rule #16 - Movies - Fish in a Birdcage

➼ information ❧ Bungou Stray Dogs ❧ Pairings: Dazai Osamu & Ranpo Edogawa, Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya ❧ Additional Character: Mori Ougai ❧ Tags: withdrawal, alcoholism, drug addiction, vomiting, hallucinations, medical inaccuracies, implied/referenced child abuse, dazai-typical suicide references, angst with a happy ending ❧ Summary: The Armed Detective Agency is strict on substance abuse, and the newly-joined Dazai has a severe addiction. They handle it in the only manner that Dazai will accept. ❧ Word Count: 2,631 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 18 October 2023

➼ whumptober 2023 ❧ Day 18: Fever | Vomiting ❧ Previous Day ❧ Next Day ❧ Masterlist

“Be on the side that saves people.”

It doesn’t have to mean the opposing side of the Port Mafia. He could’ve joined a normal detective agency, become a cop, or a healthcare worker. Hell, he could’ve forced himself in the Hunting Dogs if he so pleased. Dazai could fulfill Odasaku’s dying wish anywhere that serves the public while still seeing the worst in people; the violence they commit and the subsequent repercussions. 

But the other side of his coin requires this of him. He dances with brown bears, planning and advancing across their transparent chessboard. It’s Dazai’s turn to play. His only option is the Armed Detective Agency, or the world will collapse under the weight of five fallen angels. Besides, no other place would accept the manner in which carries himself. The Armed Detective Agency is a special organization made for special people. Dazai would be no different.

Maybe, just maybe, he wants to be like everyone else.

He didn’t know that they would be so strict on his addiction. His attempts to redirect conversations to different topics or play off his constant alcohol and drug consumption didn’t work all that well. Kunikida was harsh and Yosano was unimpressed. Ranpo smiled and laughed, but it had been at Dazai, not with him. The President was the only decent one. He pulled Dazai aside and laid out the facts:

“You’re going to get sober on your own or someone in this Agency will make you. It won’t be me,” he said, his eyes glinting with an emotion akin to pity, “but that’s only because they’ll do it before me.”

Fukuzawa doesn’t joke very often. If he does, it’s more likely than not on the topic of pet animals. True to Dazai’s observation, the very next day after work he found a week’s worth of canned food, raw meat, bread, and other condiments stacked in his apartment. His windows were boarded and the door locked behind him immediately.

When Dazai flipped the peephole cover open, he saw a grinning Ranpo waving. He then placed one hand on his hat and the other on his hip. “I’m sure the President warned you already, so I won’t spare any details. I’ll come back when you’re done!” he called. 

His voice was forced into a cheery, high-pitched note. Years of reading people already told Dazai everything he needed to know about Ranpo’s feelings on the matter. Really, Ranpo is as much an open book as everyone else. Ranpo’s eyes are perpetually squinted into near-nothing, but eyes are only one factor of the body’s equation of microexpressions — it’s hardly the only qualifying identifier for emotions and inner thoughts. 

The never-ending analyses of his peers have led Dazai to wear a perfect mask devoid of his true intentions. He wonders, then, if that’s what gave him away to Ranpo. The man sees right through Dazai one hundred percent of the time.

It’s terrifying. Watching him walk away with bags of cocaine, sheets of LSD, and syringes sticking out of his pants was even worse.

Dazai did everything he could to break out. He tore up the floor to find his keys — gone. The rifle he keeps in his safe, the gun under his mattress, the sticks of C-4 in the roof — gone. Every drop of alcohol, heroin, cocaine, even the stashes of Mori-crafted drugs he still kept around for equally special occasions was gone.

The only things that remained were decidedly not anything to kill him quickly, get him high or dead asleep, or escape his own apartment. Things that will keep him alive are all available to him; water, food, a thermometer, a clean bed, and a freshly deep-cleaned home, which Dazai recognized immediately because he hadn’t exactly kept it looking nice since he moved in.

Ranpo knew how to cover his bases. Damn him, damn his non-existent ability, and damn Mori for getting him hooked in the first place.

On the second day, Dazai threw away, destroyed, and ruined as much food and liquid as he could. He set the bread on fire with the stove, the meat into tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet, poured the water and soda into the sink, and ground the canned vegetables in the garbage disposal. They wouldn’t let him starve, and he knew they could hear him if he screamed loud enough. They would have to resupply his food eventually.

They did bring it in, but that was after his withdrawal began in full force.

It hit him more suddenly than he anticipated, and he realized just how bad he’d been. A decade of nonstop drug and alcohol abuse left him vulnerable to it being taken away. In truth, it’s his biggest weakness that could be exploited without having to do anything. Perhaps that was the underlying motivation for the Agency’s intervention. Dazai was a liability.

He doesn’t know for certain. Most of his thoughts come in sluggishly now, forming slower as the saliva bubbles around his mouth increase.

It’s the third day of true withdrawal, and five days since Ranpo stole all of his addictions and weapons and locked the door behind him. Dazai has the fleeting thought that this really will kill.

His thermometer reads an astonishing thirty-nine-degree fever. While his kakefuton is unbearably warm from his burning skin, the sweat being soaked up in the sheets makes it a sticky swamp. The tatami mats are slightly cooler but infinitely more uncomfortable to lay on. Every part of his body aches and violently oscillates between scorching and freezing.

Nausea cramps his stomach in every waking second. Between vomiting, — now on the tatami floor because he doesn’t have the energy to move anymore — frothing at the mouth, and sweating, he’s never quite dry. The only time he’s able to get himself up is in serious bowel movements, but other than that, he lays on the thin mattress.

He waits, and he thinks.

Mori is to blame for all of this. If he turns his head, he can see the doctor staring back at him. He holds a syringe in his hand. It’s filled with a brownish-yellow liquid that honestly looks anything but appealing. Just another drug to test on Dazai. Just another drug to get hooked on. Just another way to keep the boy on his leash.

His lips are drawn into a smile. He doesn’t move. It’s as though he knows that all Dazai wants is to push himself up and stick the needle into his veins. It’ll get rid of the bubbles flowing from his lips, his uncontrollable heart, and his sickening need to deplete what little remains of his internal fluids.

Dazai looks at his straggly hair and crude eyes for longer than he wants to admit. The liquid gleams and screams to enter his bloodstream.

He uses what energy he has to turn over and put his sweaty hands to his ears. He pulls at his oily hair and forgets Mori Ougai. That man is the reason he’s there in the first place. What the Agency is doing to him is chopping off Mori’s leash for good, and by sticking himself, Dazai would simply offer his neck to be fitting for a new collar.

His heart beats uncontrollably and his mouth froths into his sheets, but he closes his eyes anyway. He blocks out the world and focuses on breathing. Maybe he’ll sleep, and maybe he’ll never wake up. Dazai doesn’t know if he wants to die. He doesn’t. He doesn’t. He doesn't.

Withdrawal isn’t supposed to be this awful.

When he wakes up, he’s greeted with cramped, tense muscles and Nakahara Chuuya leaning into his personal space. His heterochromatic eyes peer scrutinizingly into Dazai’s, then trail down to the mess of his kakefuton and tatami floor. The bastard is wearing shoes, Dazai realizes with an overwhelming feeling of disgust that’s probably just overall nausea. How rude.

“Those are going to kill you, you know,” Chuuya says. His voice is unnaturally young. Dazai squints and tries to make sense of the short hair and tight frown. The black jacket he wears fits too tightly to his body. He no longer wears that red undercoat, either. Something about it being too hot, or not fitting anymore even though he hasn’t grown since he was fifteen.

Dazai laughs, or, he attempts to. His body is seized so tightly by the grip of Satan that movement is impossible. It comes out with a sort of strangled sound followed by gagging. He manages to choke down the vomit coming up his throat, but he doesn’t know why. He wouldn’t mind throwing up on Chuuya.

“Where have I heard that before?” Dazai teases, though his voice is hoarse enough that it comes off rather pitiful.

Chuuya tsks in a way that bares his teeth into a sort of snarl. A feral dog, as always. “I told you they would. Look at you now,” he says.

His hair is different. It hangs down in longer strands over his face and ears, and his black coat hangs over his shoulders in the style Dazai is more familiar with. Rimbaud’s fedora sits perfectly on his head, as though it’s made for him. The stare Chuuya levels Dazai now is older. A grimace hardens the lines on his face.

“You shouldn’t die yet,” he says, intending it to be offhanded and disconnected, but Dazai always saw through that. “How much more of this to go?” Dazai swallows back the bile in his throat, though saliva still does escape his lips. Chuuya pretends not to notice. “I don’t know… I don’t know what day it is.”

Everything burns and cools and burns again. Time passes, or it doesn’t, as he talks with Chuuya. Glasses of water and cooked crab, chicken, and rice appear by his head in intervals that he can’t keep track of. He drinks and eats them as they come and go. Mostly, though, his world is contained within the narrow space of his kakefuton and the rare trip to the bathroom. The last thing he needs is to be sleeping his own shit and pee.

People visit him. At least, he thinks they do. He doesn’t quite know how they get in, or why they sometimes bring syringes and powder and paper to wave in front of Dazai’s face. He’s either too exhausted or his muscles have tensed, but in either scenario, he can’t move to grab his only release from this eternal Hell.

Chuuya comes by on occasion. Mori seeks him the most, reminding him of why Ranpo locked him in and why he burned his old boss’ coat as soon as he could. He can smell Mori’s stench over his own odor, which is saying something considering he’s surrounded by days-old vomit, sweat, and saliva. The sight of Mori is enough to send painful waves of nausea through his stomach and intense light-headed spells.

The last person who visits him is Ranpo. He crouches by his head and cards his fingers through Dazai’s hair. He’s smiling when he says: “I’ll see you soon.”

His apartment is lonely after that, but for the first time in what’s felt like years, he has the energy to stand. It takes a painstakingly long time to pry the cover off of his sticky, dirty body and even get onto his hands and knees. When he does stand, his neck tenses up, and his back screams in weakened agony.

But he does stand, and he walks one step at a time to the bathroom. He turns on the bathtub faucet and watches with blurry fascination as the water rises. He doesn’t bother with his bandages — they are soaked and dirty, but there’s too many to take off and he’s too out of it to try. He soaks in the water and does what he can to work out the vomit and oil in his hair and exposed skin.

His toes and fingers are pruned by the time he’s finished. The process of putting on a fresh pair of clothes requires multiple breaks, and his hands shake too much to pull on socks to protect his feet from the cold of his apartment. He doesn’t return to his mattress when he’s done. Instead, he sinks to the floor in the corner of his room. It’s clean and untouched by illness and withdrawal.

It gets easier as the minutes, hours, and presumably days go on. He checks his phone for the first time on October eighteenth. Eight days since the beginning of his withdrawal. For eight days he laid with a fever high enough to kill someone without an ability and didn’t move, barely ate, barely drank.

All wanted was a shot of heroin or a stick of LSD. Anything. Dazai gradually cleans his apartment to rid the sight of his withdrawal journey. The smell wouldn’t go away until he got his hands on an air freshener, but that’s okay.

He still wants drugs. He still wants the burn of alcohol in his throat.

Then he thinks of the apartment he’s cleaning and the ever-present stench of sickness.

Ranpo will know the moment he picks up a bottle again. Actually, he thinks sourly, they will all know. They wouldn’t hesitate to do this again. The President would warn him before he could take action, and he would be a goner for another eight days, or however long his body punishes him for indulging in his desires.

His body trembles uncontrollably. It’s an after-effect of withdrawal, he knows, and it won’t go away for a while. He can control his heart rate, at least.

He can think.

He can see clearly.

And he’s cleaned his living space for the first time in the ten years since Mori first gave him a shot of heroin and a bottle of vodka to down in a matter of minutes.

Ranpo doesn’t enter the apartment, but when Dazai tries the door it gives way easily. Nobody greets him on the other side. The windows are still boarded. Dazai wonders how many of this people actually visited him. His days of forced withdrawal are full of messy, incohesive memories that don’t add up to much when he pieces them together. It only points to delirium-induced hallucinations, tension, and illness. Staying in one position for so long gave way to stiffness and exhaustion.

He wonders if anyone visited him at all.

It doesn’t matter, in the end. He can’t remember enough for it to make sense, so the argument is null and useless to him. What matters is that he’s alive and following the Agency’s rules. He doesn’t have any alcohol or drugs currently, though he knows who to contact for more if they haven’t already been dealt with by Ranpo and the Agency.

His hands tremble, and he closes the door behind him. He doesn’t want to leave the complex yet, but he does need fresh air. The autumn breeze brushes through his hair and acts as a soothing balm for his sore throat. The sun rises in front of him, casting the buildings and trees in a hazy yellow glow. His shaking hands are outlined in faint orange.

His breath crystallizes in the air, and for the first time, he sees the colors as they are. They aren’t a shattered version of what they may be. The shapes don’t move, the sky doesn’t fall, and his body trembles and trembles.

This is what it means to be sober. He only allows for a split second of discomfort. If being sober means being in the Armed Detective Agency, he will be cleaner than his freshly mopped tatami floor. Because being a member of the Armed Detective Agency means fulfilling Oda’s dying wish.

“Be on the side that saves people.”

[pilgrimsofworship]

The Giver 1993

reading progress: (start: 1/17/23) (finish: 1/19/23) pages: 306

⚠️ spoiler alert ⚠️

(my thoughts... aka imperfect book review)

With upright honesty, I am never very good at the fine art of crafting a good book review, (would this even count for one? idk how it works)

but then I will try to pour my heart as truly as I can as I comment on this book, with very little worry about my wording, if it is "too simple" or inadequate from a critique's perspective, and what not. After all, I am writing this to myself and not for the audience of many. Just so I can look back and consider the recollections I had of reading this book.

Ill start with what I think.

I hadn't read a book for so long now, so it is incredibly hard to not be biased, knowing I have read very few books in my 19 yrs of lyf  (in comparison to avid readers that I know), but what I must say is that this is my first dystopian sci-fi novel that I have read, and I really liked it. I am glad that I made a decision to explore beyond my usual go-to book genre.

All things settled, this book produced emotions for me that I can vaguely describe. It was something strong; describing them would comprise pity, longing for justice, loneliness, and utmost curiosity. I was very invested in the world-building and the themes and plot of the story. It had at most challenged my imagination, because I have always thought that I lacked in that part. It really diminished my perception of "not liking fiction" altogether. This book produced a lot of emotions that were not necessarily happy, but I enjoyed reading it and letting those emotions seep in. No wonder now, I somehow relate to that very usual phrase to a person who has read the book firsthand, the phrase "read the book, its so much better." after knowing i had only watched the adaptation. I saw some parts of the movie, but it's not as good as the experience of reading it firsthand. It certainly takes your mind on an adventure. 

(Sorry for ranting about my reading pov experience; it's way too obvious now that I don’t usually read so many books. xD)

The pain in the story... Where it’s a place of rules, and every little decision and will of a person is decided and tasked so meticulously (I don't know if its a totalitarian approach; once again, my knowledge has failed me, xD), it’s a place where everything is altogether too predictable. Where everything is chosen for you, and there are rules and higher people governing over you to provide the best "community", devoid of pain and quarrel, devoid of choice and risks, but also devoid of love and hope. Complete blandness, all the sameness, and grey...

Jonas, once an ordinary boy, had been chosen in this community to be their receiver of memory. So he now has access to all those memories of good and bad, just so his community won't have to suffer for them, and I liked the irony of it, because obviously, you can't just learn what love is if you don’t know what pain and loss are, so there are always two sides to a coin: you either have it all or you have nothing. What I really liked was the unmasking of the truth part, where Jonas realizes after he's received all the memories that he's been living in a bleak, false world all along, and this isn't what he wants, especially when he knew what "release" meant. Jonas would've lived his life like it anyway if he didn’t receive those memories, but suddenly now he wants to make a difference. We can be really blinded by what we've grown to, so much that our identity has been affixed to it,  that it is very hard to let go of what we've always been used to. But when the truth hits you in the face, there's a monumental change that happens inside of you, and it’s the breakthrough of receiving the new-found truth that changes your perception about everything. You suddenly realize that the choice is in your hands: should you stay and wish everything to be back to "normal"?  or face the unknown path of the truth that shines its glorious light, waiting for you to behold?

"You never really realize you are blinded by the truth until you get to see what's on the other side."

I was a bit confounded by the ending, as it was once again the choice of having two sides of the coin.

"The end of The Giver is open to interpretation. Some readers believe that Jonas and Gabriel are able to escape, and they sled into a new community. Others interpret the final scene as a dying hallucination of Jonas's that was triggered by the first memory The Giver gave him."

There's so much more that needs to be said, but I think that’s all I have for now.

[merakiui]

Apricity

yandere!albedo x (gender neutral) reader art credit - miHoYo cw: nsfw elements, yandere, captivity/restraints, unhealthy behaviors note - please come home to me and take care on the journey, albedo! :D also kindly heed the warnings. thank you!

His eyes are unnaturally pretty. Like twin crystals glittering in an expansive, dismal cave, searching for secrets unheard of within Mondstadt. Somehow you’re always in his peripheral, not too close and yet impossibly far at the same time. The distance is harrowing, terribly so, and Albedo knows it should be nothing short of a coincidence. When he shows up at your quaint stall with Sucrose, claiming to be in need of the exact wares you happen to sell, you pay it no mind. After all, you’ve met your fair share of regulars, and their support is what keeps you afloat. 

But there is more to those beautiful irises than he lets on. Whether it’s intentional or not, you can’t exactly say. You suppose you would rather run into someone as well-respected as Albedo as opposed to an unlikable stranger with ill intent. And it’s always great to see a familiar face, especially when he chooses to peruse your stall rather the others around you. It isn’t all that strange; you’ve even become friends with Sucrose during your short interactions. Albedo has indulged in stiff conversations with you before, but most of them were meaningless. Simple throwaway chatter between two acquaintances. 

Oddly enough, Albedo finds himself wanting more. He doesn’t want to talk about the weather or the transitioning seasons; he wants to listen to you explain how your day was and if you made more profit than the day before that. He wants to stand there and immerse himself in your pleasant voice, ignorant to the hustle and bustle of the people around him. And yet he just can’t. For a variety of reasons that pull him out of the haze of intrigue, you’ll always remain in the background. And he simply can’t bear the thought of that.

It’s rude to deteriorate a relationship that’s only just begun to blossom. If your meager acquaintanceship with him were to wither away into dust, he would feel obligated to keep it going—as if he were simply beating a dead cow with a stick. Although your hobbies differ from his, it’s nothing he can’t handle. A genius must familiarize himself with other areas of study if he intends to craft solutions that are outside of the box.

“Albedo?” 

Your tone is meek and small, tinged with the slightest shiver. Part of him feels bad for lying to you, but you were just so trusting. It’s almost comical how easily you fell into his trap. If he gets to see you in such a delicious way all the time, he’s more than willing to forsake the truth to meet his own desires. A selfish wish, yes, but it’s absolutely wonderful.

“What is it?” 

He eyes you from his spot behind the easel, and even though you can’t see him you can feel his piercing gaze. Like the sun shining brightly in a wintry afternoon, his eyes smolder with unbearable heat and yet his expression is cold with brilliant focus. 

“A-Are you almost done? It’s really cold.” Your bare back touches the wall and you flinch, an instinctual response that makes Albedo’s brow quirk. “And this is sort of...weird.”

“How so?” 

He says that in such a dismissive manner, acting as if your current position isn’t compromising. As if this was a normal exchange between friendly strangers. You have trouble finding your voice in this situation, especially since talking seems like such a chore. You’re worried you’ll say the wrong thing and then it’ll leave a false imprint of who you are on Albedo. But you’ve always been nice, unable to refuse those who are kind in return, and so you’re forced to endure the discomfort that comes with modeling nude for this peculiar alchemist. 

“Think about it.” You distract yourself with a ramble of an explanation—certainly more than what’s necessary, but Albedo doesn’t mind. He finds solace in your voice. “You’re looking at me and I’m...n-naked. And we don’t really know each other. I’m not trying to vilify you when I say this, but I don’t want you to do anything bad to me. N-Not that you would! It’s just—this is really weird. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Hm.”

“And do I have to be tied up like this?” You shuffle in your bindings, fingers scrabbling over the cuffs and chains that jingle like horrible sleigh bells. 

“You were moving too much earlier. I won’t be able to get your anatomy right if you’re constantly fidgeting.”

But it’s uncomfortable, you think, chewing on your lip out of habit.

“I guess I understand. It must be an artist thing, right?”

“You could say that.”

His work on the canvas offers a display that’s just as lewd as the real model, down to the way your nipples perk and harden in the cold. He’s not even close to finishing and that’s a blessing in itself. He could stare at your figure for hours on end, committing every inch of your flesh to memory, and he wouldn’t grow weary. 

“Do artists normally blindfold their models? I don’t really know anything about this stuff, but it’s okay if it helps with the process.”

“I find it to be interesting,” he answers, simple and vague as ever. “It adds a mysterious touch to the finished piece.”

“So you draw the model with the blindfold?” You’re used to gazing upon paintings of flowers and portraits of influential historical figures rather than blatant nudity. “Artists are definitely unique.”

Albedo hums in response, secretly reveling in your naïveté. At the end of the day, you’re just a normal citizen of Mondstadt, who stands behind a wooden stall every single day and happily chats with potential customers. You excel in business, but when it comes to the inner workings of art you’re at a loss. And that makes it all the more easier for Albedo to spin all sorts of wild tales. He fears that gullible nature will harm you in the future, yet there isn’t a threat in sight. Not when you’re here in front of him, no longer confined to his peripheral. And you’ll stay there for however long it takes him to finish this painting. 

It’s a twisted infatuation. Albedo knows he shouldn’t take too much of your time or else he’ll become addicted and it will be impossible to focus on his studies. But he can’t stop himself or his wandering gaze, which trails up your midriff. Higher and higher until he’s staring at your face, eyes obscured behind the soft fabric of a blindfold. Your body is a temple he wishes to worship, and perhaps that’s a sacrilegious thought that ought to have him consider the weight of his emotions. 

And yet you’re far too irresistible. His thoughts are dangerously potent, swirling within his brain like a maddening hurricane. Surely your missing presence in the market won’t be questioned if he were to keep you just a little longer. Longer than the boundaries of sanity will allow, that is. There are other vendors who sell the same things you boast; the economy won’t shatter if you’re not there to provide.

The paintbrush moves along the canvas in even strokes and suddenly Albedo’s mind is wandering between subjects. From art to alchemy, love to lust, and the wondrous crevices in your anatomy that call out to him. The brush stills in his hand. If he’s not mistaken, Sucrose will be stopping by to assist him and the last thing he needs is staining his appearance in a suspicious color. 

“Albedo?” His name rolls off of your tongue in such a delectable way; it’s almost sinful how his thoughts race and race in an endless track. “Are you almost done? My back is sore and the floor’s really uncomfortable.”

“Sorry. This will take longer than I thought.” He sets his brush and palette down, and you listen to his footsteps as they draw near. “Something has come up, but I promise I won’t be long.” 

“Wait. You’re not going to leave me, are you? I need to get back to the marketplace!”

Before you know what’s happening, the blindfold is coming off and you’re locking eyes with Albedo, who peers at you with intense scrutiny. Certainly the look of a genius studying a textbook. You grow flustered all at once, just now coming to terms with the fact that he looked at your body for longer than you’d like to admit. Shyly, you shut your legs to obscure your private parts, but it’s not like that will help the embarrassment that claws its way onto your expression like a persistent beast. 

“You’re better off waiting here.” He shrugs off his coat, draping it over your shoulders as if that’ll keep the dreadful chill away. “As much as I would like to finish this now, I have other work that must be taken care of.”

“I get that, but you can’t just leave me here! That’s practically kidnapping!” you protest, hoping he’ll heed the desperation in your trembling vocals. “At least, that’s what this feels like.”

“I wouldn’t kidnap you,” he says, amusement flashing in his eyes. “You’re too funny.”

Yet he isn’t laughing and neither are you as you helplessly watch him depart. The floor is too cold for your liking and the idea of entrapment settles under your skin like a million maggots feasting on a decaying, chilled copse. Devoid of warmth and carrying an air of measured grace, Albedo doesn’t spare you another glance.

He doesn’t need to. He’ll have all the time in the world to study your body like it’s the finest artwork, and you’ll be powerless to object.

[tellerluna-stories]

ii. rex lapis

The sands of time shifted once more, and now Rex Lapis ruled over Liyue. His land overflowed with wealth, and all who passed through Liyue saw their businesses prosper. The people who now walked the paved streets of Liyue had happily never known the tragedies of war, and they lived out their lives in blissful ignorance.

Within the Golden House, Rex Lapis paced around restlessly. His horns and claws were nowhere to be seen, as Liyue had no need for such instruments of war. The simple white robes he had donned for battle had been replaced with layers of multicoloured ceremonial robes and intricate headdresses that only the finest artisans could craft.

With these robes came great honour and responsibility, a reminder that the fate of Liyue rested solely upon the shoulders of Rex Lapis. Though they were made of mere fabric, at times Rex Lapis felt that they weighed heavier than chains of pure gold.

He sighed and fiddled with his sleeves— though he was, in fact, the reason mora existed in the very first place, he had to admit he was tired of seeing the same golden shimmer that surrounded him everywhere he looked.

“My lord.”

Without even turning around, he replied, “I told you not to be so formal with me.”

“Alright, alright.” You smiled and spread your hands disarmingly. “Thousands of years, but you’re still as legalistic as ever.”

Unlike Rex Lapis, you had not chosen to change too much about yourself in the years following the Archon War, whether in appearance or personality. It somewhat brought him comfort knowing that in a world that was constantly changing too fast for him to keep up, there was still one person who could keep him anchored; no matter what era you were in, you could always quickly adjust to the practices and customs around you without forcing yourself to mold to them.

“Thousands of years, and I still need to remind you that titles are unnecessary, my friend.”

“Ah, but the question is: am I genuinely forgetting to drop them, or do I keep using them just to irk you?”

He turned around, face carefully devoid of any emotion. “My friend, do you happen to fear the wrath of the Rock?”

He watched in satisfaction as the smug look on your face quickly morphed into one of fearful respect. “As a matter of fact I do, so let’s change the topic. Your robes are simply majestic, my— I mean, Rex Lapis!”

“Do you not have one just like this?” Rex Lapis looked down at his embellished sleeves— the people of Liyue had gifted both of you with ceremonial robes, but he had yet to see you wear them. “If I recall, yours had the phoenix embroidered on the front.”

“Oh yes, I still have it with me.” You bent over and inspected the nearest pile of mora, brushing the golden coins with your fingertips. “I don’t wear it much since it restricts my movements, but maybe I will if there’s a special occasion.”

“I would like to see you wear it someday, if you choose to. You’d look absolutely stunning.”

He waited for some witty comeback, the usual jokes you’d make in response to his compliments— but you remained oddly silent, hunched over the little pile of mora like a bird guarding its nest.

“My friend...?”

Gently, he placed a hand on your shoulder, unknowingly sending an electric current running through your veins.

“Ah, yes, yes! I was just, uh—“ Hurriedly, you jumped to your feet and dusted your hands off on your clothes. “I was just trying to remember where my robe was, that’s all. I stored it away but I don’t exactly remember where— you know how it is, right?”

Yes, you had just forgotten where you had last put that phoenix robe, as though you still didn’t clean it and carefully air it out at least once a month. That robe was one of the few things you treasured dearly, as it was a gift from the people you watched over... and perhaps also because it was a gift that matched with his.

The heat rushing to your face and the quickening of your heartbeat upon hearing him say you’d look stunning— that was out of pure embarrassment, nothing more. He only meant it out of kindness, now, don’t misinterpret his words.

Clearing your throat hastily, you tried to change the subject. “Did you know that there’s a full moon tonight?”

“Is there, now?” He tilted his head to the side; a somewhat endearing habit of his, left over from when he had horns. “I have not left this place in quite some time; the people of Liyue are a little too concerned for my safety to let me venture outside often.”

“They haven’t....?”

But Rex Lapis merely smiled in reply, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. “It’s only natural for young people to be overprotective of the ones who take care of them. I’m sure they would do the same for you if you just let them, my friend.”

“You sounded very old when you said that, my lord.”

“Pardon?”

“I said your words shone like gold when you said that, my lord.”

He narrowed his eyes skeptically, but you only returned his gaze with a look of pure, angelic innocence. There was no way he could say anything against you, especially not with that look on your face.

“My lord,” You said, with that innocent look still plastered on your face. “Given that you haven’t gone outside in a while, what say you to accompanying one such as myself on an outing this fine evening?”

“An outing, you say?” He put a hand to his chin and pretended to contemplate the idea, silently observing as your eyes lit up with poorly-hidden anticipation. “Where would one go at this hour? It would cause quite a stir if Rex Lapis were to suddenly disappear from his position, with no reasonable explanation.”

To that you raised a finger upwards in reply, pointing to the cavernous roof of the Golden House.

“Technically, you wouldn’t be leaving.” Holding out your hand to him, you smiled and said, “Shall we watch the stars together, then?”

———

“This is incredibly reckless.”

“It’s also incredibly exciting, don’t you think?”

Barely-suppressed laughter bubbled up into your throat as you looked at the great Rex Lapis, who had awkwardly bunched up his robes around his knees. There was no way he could climb to the top of the roof without either damaging his (very costly, one-of-a-kind) robe, or getting him tangled into a mummy wrapping of fine silk.

“Your laughter does not go unnoticed, by the way.” He said, glowing amber eyes trained on the vast ascent of roof tiles before him. “Since this was your idea, how about you think of a solution to this problem?”

The cool night breeze whistled in your ears like a distant flute, and he shivered slightly; it was best to think of a solution quickly, lest Liyue be in uproar over the dignified Rex Lapis catching a mere cold.

You squinted at the rooftop, trying to analyse the best way to scale it with as little collateral damage to your superior as possible. It was certainly possible, especially with your talents as an adeptus (and also because your position did not require such cumbersome clothing), but there would have to be some rather... unusual measures taken.

“Do you trust me?”

He blinked in confusion. “What strange sort of question is—“

Before he could finish, you lifted him off the ground as though you were carrying a princess.

“Hold on tight, my lord.” You whispered, your lips only a few breaths away from his ear. “It may be a little bit unstable.”

He barely had time to wrap his arms around your neck as you leapt into the air, nimbly bounding off the golden tiles like a deer.

What exactly was this situation he was in? Moreover, what was this odd sensation swelling in his heart?

“Mind your sleeves, Rex- I mean, my lord!” You huffed. “I can’t see where I’m stepping if you decide to obscure my sight, which isn’t exactly the best choice for you right now.”

With one final jump, you landed safely on the topmost roof of the Golden House. He could only stare at you blankly as he tried to process what had just happened in the past few minutes— however, you caught onto his stare too easily.

“What, are you surprised that I was able to pull that off?” Shaking your head vigorously to remove the flyaway hair from your eyes, you frowned at him in a jesting manner. “Don’t tell me you’ve been underestimating my abilities this whole time, my lord.”

“No.” He replied immediately. “I would never.”

“That’s what I thought.” With a nod of satisfaction, you gently set him down onto the roof. “Here is the moon and stars for you, as promised.”

Rex Lapis raised his eyes to the sky that he had not seen in some time, and the heavens did not disappoint.

Overhead, the galaxy stretched out in a rich tapestry of hues, stars interwoven in between the threads like beads of precious stones. A full moon hung in the sky, a pearl of great price that took all the beauty that surrounded it and unified it into a beautiful symphony of colours.

For the first time in a while, he felt free— up here with you by his side, there were no such things as duty and responsibility. There were only the two of you in this quiet, peaceful place, with the heavens above as your only witness.

“A lovely night, don’t you think?” You grinned and put your hands on your hips, the wind toying with your hair ever so slightly. “The minute I saw this, I knew you simply couldn’t miss it; not in a thousand years.”

His gaze lingered on the picture of you bathed in a soft halo of moonlight, smiling dreamily at the stars above. “...Very lovely, indeed.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Jolting suddenly, you fumbled as you brought out a brass bottle and a pair of teacups from seemingly thin air. “I figured it would be cold out, so I prepared something, just in case.” You gestured for him to sit. “Have a seat while you’re waiting— can’t have the ruler of Liyue standing around waiting for me to serve him, can I?”

“Your judgement is as impeccable as ever, my friend. Whatever would I do without you?”

You rolled your eyes as you began to unscrew the cap of the bottle. “Such flattery is unnecessary. We both know that you could manage Liyue just as well if you were on your own.”

“That doesn’t mean I would want to.” He hesitated, unsure if what he would say next would make you uneasy. “You have done more for me and for Liyue than you could possibly imagine, and I... I sincerely wish for you to know that. You have just as an important role in Liyue as I do, and this place would not be what it is today without you.”

Pausing in what you were doing, you slowly raised your eyes to meet his— there was nothing but pure sincerity in his eyes and words. He truly meant what he was saying, and the way he worded it made your heart- no, no, this wasn’t the time for that.

“...Thank you, Rex Lapis. Those words mean a lot to me, especially coming from you.”

“Do my ears deceive me?” He put a hand to his mouth in mock disbelief. “Say that once more, my friend, I do not think I heard you well the first time.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” You glared at him. “It seems that your age is showing, my lord. Perhaps I should carry you back inside, if your age has really advanced so rapidly.“

“You called me Rex Lapis, for once. This is a day that this aged man shall remember for the rest of his life, and shall be inscribed into the history of Liyue as a momentous occasion—“

“The tea will grow cold long before your long-winded speech finishes, my lord. How about you drink first and talk later?”

Rex Lapis gave you an unimpressed stare. “Perhaps if you cease calling me ‘my lord’, I will think the matter over. When did you learn to brew tea, by the way?”

You returned his stare with one equally matched in unimpressed energy. “Over the years, I’ve found that the art of tea-brewing helped greatly in calming myself, and so I’ve been practicing ever since. Your cup, please— my lord.”

He rolled his eyes at your smug face and held out his cup.

A faint wisp of steam curled from the bottle as the dark liquid trickled into his teacup, along with some unknown plant matter. His thoughts must’ve shown clearly upon his face, for you burst out laughing upon seeing it. “It’s not poison, for Celestia’s sake! If I were planning to assassinate you, I would’ve done it eons ago.”

“And how is that meant to bring me any reassurance?”

“Oh, it wasn’t intended to.” You poured a cup for yourself and downed a sip of your concoction. “But no assassin would be fool enough to drink the poison intended for their target... except for me, possibly. Drink up!”

Rex Lapis still eyed the teacup in his hands suspiciously— but then again, you had never given any reason for him to doubt you, so why should he start now?

“So, is it good?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the unique flavours on his tongue. “If I could, I would drink the tea you make everyday for the rest of eternity.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words; you choked, nearly sending the bottle of tea tumbling off of the roof. “Ah- er, well—“

“What, is that too humble of praise for it? I mean it from the bottom of my heart.”

“No, it’s just- well, it sounds like a phrase I’ve heard among the merchants of Inazuma— oh, never mind. I’m glad you like it.”

“What did you put in it to make it taste so exquisite?”

Leaning closer to him, you whispered, “Petals of peach blossom and glaze lily flowers. Along with some other choice ingredients, but what truly gives it that taste and aroma is the flowers.”

Your face was close, closer than he ever even dreamed to approach in a million years; in the pale moonlight, your eyes glittered brighter than any jewel the earth could give. Any dragon would covet such a treasure and guard it with their very life.

How had he not noticed how mesmerizing your eyes were till tonight?

“Absolutely fascinating,” He murmured, before belatedly realizing he said it aloud.

“Isn’t it?” You hummed in agreement. “It’s my special brew. I experimented on it until I could perfectly balance the flavours to my liking.” Your gaze swiveled to the elaborate water gardens sprawled in front of the Golden House. “Do you want me to plant a peach tree and some glaze lilies by the front of the gate? I could do that, if you really do enjoy my tea that much.”

A mix of relief and disappointment washed over him; you hadn’t realised he wasn’t talking about the flowers.

He mused over the idea— it didn’t seem so bad, after all, but...

“I’d like to plant them somewhere more.... permanent. Somewhere we can watch them grow together.”

“Say the word, and your wish is my command.” You beamed at him. “Just tell me when and where, and I’ll have them in full bloom for you in no time, no matter the season.”

A warm, fluttering feeling filled his chest, and Rex Lapis suddenly found it harder to breathe than before. His face felt oddly warm, while his hands were cold— was it a result of the night air? He wasn’t that old yet.

Anxious to change the topic before you cracked another joke about his age, he quickly asked, “How are the affairs of Liyue doing, my friend?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “The trade routes are thriving splendidly. Many merchants from the other regions come to seek permission to transport goods to and from their lands, so I’ve been handling most of their affairs. Even picked up some of their languages while at it.” A mischievous smile spread across your face as you said, “Tu ne me comprends pas, non? Je t’aimerai pour toujours et à jamais, mon amour.”

“Impressive.” He hadn’t understood a word of what you had said, but he was almost dead certain that you were poking fun at him. “It is good to see that Liyue is in such capable hands. What about the—“

“—the adepti? Oh, they’re all doing quite well, I believe. They don’t really leave their abodes anymore, save for Madame Ping and young Ganyu.”

“How about—“

“Xiao? I visit him every now and then, to make sure he eats well and is doing alright. And yes, I bring him the painkillers you have specially made for him.” You paused. “He sends his greetings, and it is very obvious that that boy misses you, even if he won’t admit it himself.”

Rex Lapis breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “You really do know what I’m going to say, even before I say it.”

“What can I say? Even before you need to ask, you can consider it already done.” A chuckle escaped your lips as you scuffed the sole of your shoe against the roof tiles. “That’s why I’m here, after all. Who better than I to carry out the word of Rex Lapis?”

“You had best watch yourself there, my friend, lest your head grows too big for your shoulders.”

“Oh, but my lord, who was the one who gave me this position?” Propping your chin on your steepled fingers, you give him a smug look. “I seem to recall a certain someone appointing me as his right-hand, after all.”

“What has been given can just as swiftly be taken away.”

“You’re no fun.” You stuck your tongue out at him and turned away, pointedly staring at the moon.

“So, what is the real reason you brought me up here?”

In an instant your head whipped back to meet his gaze, eyes wide and mouth agape. “How did you—“

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin, and now it was his turn to look smug. “You’re not the only one who can practically read minds, my friend. The facade you put up is better crafted than mine, but I can still see right through you.”

“Well...” You fell silent for a moment, fingers tracing along the sides of the brass bottle and etching invisible patterns into the metal with your fingernails. “I wanted to ask how you were doing.”

Rex Lapis tilted his head slightly, confusion and curiosity melding into one feeling. “How I was doing?”

“I struggle sometimes... with the memories of those who have passed on. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment I forget; I get distracted or actually feel happy, but then I suddenly think of them, and I wonder if I actually have the right to enjoy myself.”

Shifting slightly, your expression was unreadable in the pale moonlight. “But lately, their faces have become blurry, and I get scared when I can’t remember what they look like. It’s the least I can do for my comrades, since I’m the only one left.” You pursed your lips. “Do you have the same problem?”

The somber look on your face stirred up the remorse that still gnawed at his heart, even after all these centuries. You had been suffering alone because of his mistakes, and it pained Rex Lapis even more knowing that no contract he wrote could remedy the empty gap in your heart. All he could do was sit with you and be something you could anchor yourself to, just the way you had been a steadfast rock to him.

He shifted to sit closer to you, no longer caring whether his robes would be dirtied or not. “Not quite the same problem.”

“...Oh.”

“Like you, even after so many years I still cannot help but think of them. Every detail of their lives, their voices and faces— I remember it all.” Rex Lapis looked up to the stars, where perhaps the constellations of your friends lay, and laughed dryly. “Mortal men have been blessed with forgetfulness, but it seems that I have been cursed to remember.”

Tentatively, he raised a hand to gently pat you on the head, just the way his caregiver used to when he was feeling out of sorts or upset. “But worry not, my friend. If what you worry about is forgetting, then I will be the one to remember everything for you.”

“You needn’t worry about me forgetting you, by the way.” You said quietly. “Even if I forget everything else in this world, I know that I’ll always remember you, no matter what form you take.”

The strange, fluttering feeling in his chest returned, coursing through his veins and flowing through his fingertips— subconsciously he pulled his hand away, fearing that those feelings would somehow reach you.

It’s merely the chill of the night air, he told himself.

You said nothing as he pulled away, but Rex Lapis found himself wishing you would say something, anything; complain, or make a joke out of it, or perhaps even ask him to do it again— no, he couldn’t dare dream of that.

Not for your sake.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” You said suddenly, breaking the silence and the maze of thoughts his mind was trapped in.

Rex Lapis looked to the moon over Liyue Harbor, admiring the way it bathed the city in silver light. Though Liyue in the daytime was loud, filled with many colours and sounds that overwhelmed the senses, this version of Liyue was also beautiful to behold.

Perhaps... perhaps this is what she meant by living treasure, he thought to himself.

Caring for this city of people, nurturing them and building a better future for them and the future generations— that was certainly something close to his heart. It didn’t feel exactly like the living treasure he had expected, but as long as you were there to watch over Liyue with him, then perhaps... perhaps it would grow on him as time passed.

“Yes,” he agreed. “It truly is.”

But that evening, he failed to notice that you weren’t looking at the moon.

[yandere-daydreams]

Twelve Days of Christmas - Day Six

Prompt: Hot Chocolate.

Pairing: Yandere!Jamil/Reader (Twisted Wonderland).

TW: Kidnapping, Imprisonment, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Mentions of Mind Control, and Implied Non-Consensual Drug Use.

“I brought you something.”

You knew that. Your room was so quiet, so devoid of life other than yourself, you could hear his footsteps halfway down the nearest hall, his quiet swears as he struggled to unlock the deadbolts on your door with a single hand, all the little, almost unnoticeable tells that were so different from his usual, silent approach. You knew that, and yet, you didn’t look up as he came to a stop in front of you, keeping your eyes fixed on the sheets beneath your crossed legs. You knew better than to look at him, by now. You knew better than to hope you could trust him, by now.

And luckily, he knew better than to expect you to.

Still, there was a sigh, a slight noise of disappointment as he moved something into your line of sight – a ceramic mug, painted a deep red and crafted without a handle, warm to the touch as you took it out of his hand. You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t have to, not when Jamil was more than willing to bridge the gap on your behalf. It was a worrying method, especially from him, the type to prefer a forceful shove over a delicate nudge in the right direction, but you couldn’t help but be thankful for the slight reprieve. “Hot chocolate,” He explained, as he perched himself on the edge of your bed at your side. “Or, the closest thing I could find, at least. I know how much you used to like it while we were in Night Raven, but people try to avoid it here, for obvious reasons.”

Right. Because you weren’t in Night Raven, anymore. Because you’d graduated, and now, you couldn’t even be sure if you were in the same kingdom. Jamil liked to keep you in the dark, about that. He probably thought it’d make it harder for you to run away. You didn’t see the point, honestly.

You’d given up on trying to escape weeks ago. There wasn’t really a point, not when Jamil always made sure the punishment outweighed the risk.

You spared a glance towards the drink, steam still rising off the top, then to his thigh where it pressed against yours. You were tempted to move away, but he usually didn’t take to distance so kindly. “And this is supposed to make me love you?”

There was a shift, a slight deflation. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve thought he was genuinely upset. “I’m open to suggestions, if you have any.” Calloused fingers wrapped around your wrist, his grip not tight, but firm enough to hold you steady when you tried to flinch away. “Try it. I doubt it’ll give you another reason to hate me.”

Even so, you were always willing to try.

It was closer to cinnamon than it was to chocolate, thick but sweet, traces of honey and coconut mixed with spices you couldn’t recognized. You took a generous sip, then another, letting yourself savor the reminder of your home at Ramshackle, of the career and friends and life Jamil’d seen fit to tear you away from. It was something you liked to linger on, in a masochistic, self-destructive sort of way. It was a sore spot, but one you could stand to abuse, one that reminded you not to lean into him as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side with an unearned intimacy. 

A month ago, he would’ve dug his nails into your hip, growling for you to do the same. A few days ago, he would’ve lost his temper the moment you shrunk into yourself, the moment you made it clear how little you cared for him, but right now, he seemed resigned to your reluctance, barely shaking his head If he wanted anything else, you couldn’t tell, but that might’ve been what you liked least about Jamil. You could never tell what he wanted, even on the rare occasion he was willing to tell you. You had a feeling this wasn’t any different, even if he was making an effort to act a little more sympathetic, today.

“I didn’t think this would be permanent,” He admitted, warm breath fanning against the crook of your neck. You tried not to listen, to focus on your drink and the paint chipping on the farthest wall, but there wasn’t much you could do to block him out. He’d always been good at that - making himself the center of your world, even when you tried to divert your attention. “I thought you’d come around, eventually, and it’s not like I wanted to treat you like a prisoner. It’s just, I know you’ve never cared about me, not like I care about you, and… and it got so frustrating.” He was smart enough to stop there, to grit his teeth and choke down a ragged inhale, and for the first time, you thought you could’ve felt bad for him. It was something closer to pity than guilt, but the sensation managed to burn itself out quickly. The locks on your door and the unused chains coiled at the end of your bed made it easier. “I was irritated. I was angry. I felt like I didn’t have another option. I thought you’d come around, but—”

“But, I didn’t,” You finished, and Jamil’s hold on you tightened. “You kidnapped me. You're holding me against my will, and you can’t even say you regret it.”

He didn’t hesitate. If nothing else, you’d give him that. He knew what he wanted, and he was self-aware enough to realize you’d never believe otherwise. “I regret that you’re unhappy,” He said, his voice nearly soft enough to be inaudible. “But I only did what I had to. I’m only doing what I have to. The thought of so many people being able to look at you, out there, the thought of anyone being able to put their hands on you…” He trailed off, but that only seemed to strength his resolve. He didn’t sound as unsure as he had, when he continued. “I wouldn’t be able to stand it. It’s better, this way. For both of us.”

You wanted to yell at him. You wanted to scream. You might’ve, you genuinely, genuinely might’ve, but as soon as you moved to open your mouth, you realized you couldn’t. It was like your body had grown heavier, in the space between one second and another, like he’d found a way replace you blood with liquid mercury. For a moment, a jolt of muted dread flooded into your system at the idea that he could’ve found a way to cast a spell without meeting your eyes, but this felt different from Snake Whisper, it felt worse. His magic would’ve left you suppressed in your own body, forced into a corner of your mind. Like this, you just felt hazy. In control, but unable to do anything with that control. You felt…

You felt weak.

Your form went limp, but Jamil wasn’t kind enough to let you fall. The mug slipped from your hands, its scalding contents spilling over your mattress, but if he noticed, he didn’t seem to care. Distantly, you could hear him laughing, an airy chuckle that only seemed to become more deafening as he pulled you into his lap, your head soon resting against his chest and his fingers in your hair, showing you all the affection he’d been kind enough to hold back, until now. “You’ll see that, with time. I’m the only one who deserves you, the only one who’s ever going to take care of you. You’ll realize that.”

You almost wished he’d been kind enough to hypnotize you. At least then, you wouldn’t have to feel his lips press against the top of you head, his grin only growing sharper as you failed to resist.

“You’ll have to see how much you need me, once you don’t have another choice.”

[liyuesbian]

✧ pygmalion!au [ningguang]

notes: btw idk how commissions from museums work i just made the process up LMAO and this one's kinda angsty? i mean, it is the pygmalion greek myth so iykyk. also, i describe this figurine of ningguang here but w/o the colour... i've linked it in case any1 needs the reference. (btw, this is not set in ancient greece specifically)

only yesterday had you been commissioned by an art gallery in the capital to create a piece for their up-and-coming collection titled desire, love and identity. yet here you are, slaving away to make the perfect image you had in your head come into fruition. your vision is exquisite once sketched on paper—you can't find any faults in it so you take the risk.

as soon as your chisel meets the marble, a feeling so invigorating dominates your body. no further references are necessary as you place your trust entirely on your hands, coarse from the labour. you find such mindless toil addicting and you work day and night, only stopping for a half-baked meal and the odd collapse into bed.

for months, love streams out of the tips of your fingers and through your sculpting tools to arrive at the stone figure. you sincerely hope the intimate emotion has been reached.

when you finish, you wipe the bead of sweat running down your forehead, rest the other palm on your hip and take slow steps backwards all while maintaining eye contact with the statue. a wave of sweet relief hits you and you fall to the floor, uncontrollably sobbing into tired hands that still grip the hammer and chisel.

it's beautiful.

you stagger, struggling to get up with your bruised knees while clumsily wiping the tears off your stained cheeks. setting the instruments aside, you lift your head to admire your handiwork up close. a woman made of stone sits elegantly atop an oriental chair, crossing her smooth, white legs over each other. her left elbow is propped on the arm of the chair while on the other side, a long smoking pipe is balanced between gloved fingers. around her lies an assortment of objects: a vase containing scrolls, a floor lamp, and a charmingly decorated folding screen.

you see, you had already thought it all out. you'd imagined ningguang's preferences for a life of luxury, her affinity for constructing and sprucing up interiors. she would be a master of the trades and a woman who likes to keep an air of mystery around her. and like how you increasingly project her to be more of a person than she ever will be, there is a creeping concern in the corner of your mind that you will lose your rationality just as quickly.

the sculpture's body is clad in a qipao with a slit that reveals alabaster skin below the waist. the dress—embellished with patterns and neat linings—hugs her figure and shows off a lean build. the extensive train and sleeves of the fabric are shaped curvaceously to mirror the flow of a waterfall. and her face. the section you strived so hard to refine. she stares at you with an imperious expression and a hint of a smirk. her gaze, so piercing, makes you avert your eyes in shyness but you find yourself gravitating back to her profile.

you muster up the courage to draw closer to your creation and unconsciously stroke her cheek with your thumb, captivated. if she were an empress, you'd be a common peasant—undeserving of setting your sights on such a goddess. you can feel your soul being sucked into eyes devoid of emotion—of anything, actually. after all, the woman sitting before you is not a person but an inanimate object.

the weeks following the completion of ningguang—which is the name you've picked up the habit of calling her—are spent in said lady's company. every minute of every day, you surround yourself with her presence as if she is your closest friend. you eat with her, tell her your troubles, even going so far as to decorate her with various types of jewellery and bringing her gifts you think she'd like.

"thank you," you whisper. "for always listening to me." in truth, you're always so immersed in your work that you forgot what conversations could feel like. though, you fear your art would never be on par with something so transcendent ever again.

you become curious, wondering what she would be like if the nymph in front of you were not just a figment of your imagination.

you perch yourself on top of ningguang's stone-cold lap and trace the contours of her visage. you inspect each crease on her lips and the minuscule crinkles in her eyes, applauding yourself for the well-crafted details. you don't know what possesses you but you close your eyes and press your lips against hers, hoping that once you open them, a living being would erupt from underneath the marble. but, of course, as soon as the light hits your retinas, ningguang is as unmoving as ever.

realising what you've just done, you drop off of her thighs and laugh anxiously. however, you could've sworn that you had felt warmth in the lips of your beloved muse.

"i've finally gone mad!" you cry aloud.

hell, you say to yourself, is it even possible to fall in love with such an... an artefact? you dismiss your glaringly obvious infatuation.

"nonsense," you mutter under your breath, sensing your heart breaking slightly. how can something so painfully humanlike also not be human at the same time? you must've caused a tremendous atrocity in your past life to have made the gods harbour a grudge against you. of all things, you'd never have guessed that a lifeless piece of art would be the object of your desire.

you can't bear to look at the handcrafted lady any longer and with an anguished face, cover her with a large cotton cloth. the plan was to wait until you could hand the statue over to the curators and try to ignore its existence until then.

for a few days, you act according to the plan, going about your daily routine but eventually, your stoic demeanour crumbles. you lock yourself in your room refusing to eat or believe that your affection would never be returned.

during the hours of sunlight, you weep under your sheets, drowning in self-inflicted sorrow. and at night, you do the same, lamenting over the loss of what could've been your true love. she would've been so perfect in your eyes, your other half, and the only one who could calm this growing turmoil!

the reality pains you. hence, you do the only thing you can do: you pray. you pray to the gods for a miracle, that the light of your life would stride into your room and pull you from the depths of despair... but she never does.

your last day "cohabitating" with the sculpture has arrived and for the first time in—what felt like—an eternity, you open the doors to your workshop. taking a deep breath, you unveil the stationary maiden.

it's still as beautiful as you remember.

you give it a sad smile, wanting to get its departure over and done with. you manoeuvre about the room to prepare the things for the movers who're due to come in a couple of hours. while you go down your little list of errands to be done, you cough and bat away the smoke—wait, the smoke? frantic, you spin around, eyes darting everywhere in search of its origin until they land on the smoking pipe you so intricately moulded for the commissioned piece.

it's strange, you don't recall colouring the statue. and how on earth is smoke coming out of the pipe? suspicious, you approach the motionless entity and almost stumble when you spot its chest rising.

oh lord! — i really must be descending into madness! you clutch your head, clawing at your hair in hysteria.

"stop, please don't hurt yourself." the sound of a low, worried voice penetrates your ears. you shut your eyes tight.

"no, the gods have cursed me! i mustn't listen to your poisonous words!" you exclaim. your state of agitation is alleviated when the woman caresses your tensed arm.

"what has happened to you? i haven't seen you lately either." the tone is more soft and more tender than you had imagined. you release your grip.

"is it really you, ningguang?" your voice cracks at the end, and the woman you sought after witnesses your features twist into an expression of longing and hope.

"yes, my darling. i dare not go anywhere else."

helplessly, you rush to cup her face to check for heat, for the blood traversing under her skin—anything that would prove that your sweetheart is truly alive and breathing. and when you do get the confirmation, you beam, trying to withhold tears born from elation.

you bend down to kiss ningguang, who is still seated on the chair, once, twice, and three times to rid your scepticism. oh, deities! she's real.

"i love you," you declare.

"i know." you watch as the same creases you'd etched on the corners of her eyes spread into a loving half-moon shape and you kiss her again.

you reach a conclusion: you couldn't give away your lover—let alone a live person—to be displayed as part of a museum exhibition so when the workers arrive, you hide your muse away in another room. you apologise profusely and spin a lie, rambling on about how you had nothing to relinquish for the piece you had prepared had been oh-so-viciously stolen by a mob of trespassers!

the movers share with you their sympathies and ask what the work of art looks like and maybe they could sort something out with the authorities. nodding, you recount—so ardently—the details of your divine maiden. you feel heat rush to your face, chuckling when you realise that you'd run your mouth for too long.

in response to this, the two labourers exchange dubious looks as they peer at the static sculpture standing in the middle of the studio—its appearance unmistakably matching your elaborate description.

[fettsvette]

Never Worn White (Part Three)

Cloud City, Bespin. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 11.7k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Unprotected sex and loss of virginity

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Mando’a terminology

  vaar’ika - little runt

  nehutyc’ika - feisty one

  sarad’ika - little flower

mesh’la - beautiful

    -

  You’d never had so many sets of eyes on you at one time until you had left the Paradise Atrium in the company of Boba Fett. The crowd had swept apart for you as if by the powers of a Jedi Knight of old, with Fett’s hand in yours, leading you out of the lounge and into the cool night air. You had been alarmed about leaving so abruptly at first - a part of you had expected to sit and chat for a while longer, get to know each other, but you supposed that prolonged discussion wasn’t really Boba Fett’s style. Once it was agreed upon that you were to spend the night together, he had simply enveloped your hand in his gloved one, and begun pulling you along towards the doors, much like a parent guiding an unruly child rather than a suitor escorting his barroom hookup.

  You had balked as you approached the exit; you hadn’t settled your tab. Fett had turned and regarded you with a mute stare for a brief moment, then had wordlessly tugged you towards the bar, the Bothan bartender gazing towards you with a look of mingled pity and amusement. You didn’t think he’d really expected your irrational scheme to work out. You’d begun digging through the small bag swinging from your arm with a shaking hand, desperately searching for the credit chip that had disappeared into the recesses of it, all too aware of Boba Fett’s presence at your shoulder, breathing down your neck. He watched you struggle for a moment longer before he jostled you to the side and reached into one of the many pockets lining the flak suit underneath his armor, pulling out a haphazard pile of gold and silver Imperial credits, easily several hundred worth, the largest amount you’d ever seen in one setting. By the way Fett slammed the chips down on the counter, he knew he was vastly overpaying your dues, but you knew he wasn’t just covering your tab - he was also buying the bartender’s silence pertaining to this tryst. The Bothan wordlessly swept the money off the bar and into a cupped paw, being careful to not make too much eye contact. It was more than obvious that this kind of transaction had played out here many times before; it was better to just take the money and continue on with business as usual, no questions asked. You’d attempted to thank Fett as he’d silently led you through the shipyards towards his cruiser, but he didn’t even turn to acknowledge your words, so you dropped it. He hadn’t done it out of a display of romantic chivalry, after all - he’d only been covering his own ass, trying to make a quick getaway with you in tow. You were his prize for the night, his bounty .

  So you found yourself within the confines of the Slave I , a ship the sight or sound of which would send most creatures fleeing in terror for their lives. You sat frozen on a narrow bunk in the pilot’s quarters, unsure whether you were trembling from nerves or from the cold. You hadn’t been on very many space vessels in your lifetime, let alone ones owned by galactic mercenaries, but the sterile spotlessness of the Slave had shocked you upon first entry. Based on the chipped and battle-worn exterior of the transport, you’d expected it to be dingy, the walls bearing the mark of blaster smoke residue, maybe even some old bloodstains, but instead your surroundings gave off the impression of having been scrubbed down meticulously, carefully - and fairly recently. You could tell this wasn’t the work of maintenance droids - this kind of immaculate cleanliness could only be the mark of human hands. You tried to imagine Boba Fett sitting back on his haunches on the hard durasteel floor, a sponge and bucket beside him, diligently scouring the insides of the cages that held the captives he was entrusted with transporting to their dooms. You envisioned the armor of his breastplate glistening in the artificial light, rivulets of soapy water dripping down the front of it, soaking through the thick material of the leather gloves he never took off. You’d been so kriffing wet ever since you’d arrived aboard the Slave I, anticipating what was to come. Boba Fett’s hand had felt so warm in yours as he’d led you up here to his personal quarters, and you shivered at the memory of his large palm on your ass, steadying you as he’d instructed you to climb the ladder behind the cockpit. You’d never been touched in that way before, and you’d momentarily frozen, before a rough push from below had boosted you up through the hatch in the floor. 

  And now here you were, sitting on Boba Fett’s bed, listening to the rhythmic release of the hot water in the adjacent shower. You hadn’t expected a bounty hunter to have such an extravagant luxury as a chemical-based bathing system onboard his craft - although you supposed that he could afford any type of vehicular modifications he wished, with the kind of exorbitant payouts he received for his work. Fett had told you - practically ordered you, in hindsight - to stay put and wait for him to get out of the ‘fresher. Despite the arousal coating your thighs beneath your dress, you couldn’t stop your knees from knocking together. You hadn’t known it was possible to be horny and petrified at the same time, but you were. You truly hadn’t expected to get this far in your fantasy - it had seemed like such a pipedream, a childish adventure you’d anticipated to end in rejection and embarrassment and heartbreak. You hadn’t expected such a man to be a willing participant in your flight of fancy. But instead you were now aboard Fett’s personal transport, waiting for him to finish washing up. Unless something were to go unspeakably wrong in a very short amount of time, you were going to lose your virginity to Boba Fett tonight. The shiver that curled up your spine as you said it to yourself in your head was both one of expectancy and timorousness. 

  “You’re still dressed.”

  The voice was gruff, the unexpectedness of it causing you to gasp and leap to your feet. You whirled towards the source, and felt as if the breath had been forcefully knocked from your lungs as if by a sharp blow.

  In all the time you’d spent researching Fett, siphoning up every piece of information on him that you could find, not many creatures had ever thought to describe what his voice sounded like. You supposed that Fett didn’t talk much, being such a singular man - in all the holovids you had seen of him, never once had he spoken, even when speech had been directed towards him. Just that stony silence answered, maybe a tilt of that mysterious worn-out visor or a quick gesture with a gloved hand, but that was it. The modulated voice that came through the Mandalorian helmet’s vocoder back in the cantina had been harsh, unforgiving, devoid of most emotion save annoyance and the venom that you expected from the galaxy’s most ruthless bounty hunter. There had still been that odd kindness to his tone when he’d seen you were upset, however, a shift that had seemed so out of character based on what you’d seen and read about the man that it had stunned your senses into complete sobriety, stilling your tears. This voice that confronted you now was very much human, but gravelly, made harsh by years of hard living and long periods of solitude. There was an inquisitiveness to it, though, and a youthfulness you hadn’t expected. You couldn’t place the accent, although you’d heard rumors that Fett’s family was from the Mandalore sector of the Outer Rim, some backwater moon called Concord Dawn, but none of the bounty hunter aficionados you’d spoken with seemed to be sure. He did wear Mandalorian armor, after all, but most assumed it had been plundered, not inherited or earned. Of course, nobody had ever asked Boba Fett himself - and lived to tell anyone, anyway.

  The man standing before you was bare-chested, a thin towel wrapped around his waist. He stood in the doorway of the refresher, residual steam still collecting behind him, water beading on the muscular expanse of his pectorals. His shoulders and upper arms and abdomen were covered in tattoos, unfamiliar spiraling patterns as well as glyphs in a language you’d never seen before, and every inch of his body that you could see was riddled with scars - some obvious blaster wounds, others looking like the marks of vibroblades or crude spears, some overlapping others and completely unrecognizable as being from any particular weapon. His skin was like a canvas, a story detailing decades of fierce battles, of wins and losses. You longed to run your hands over each and every scar, hear those stories yourself. Even more so, you yearned to tangle your fingers through the thick black curls atop his head - for some reason you had always expected him to have a shaved scalp, like so many other humanoid mercenaries, and the surprising full head of hair gave Fett a strangely boyish appearance. You pegged his age at anywhere from late twenties to mid-thirties, although it was hard to tell; the scars peppering his body also extended across his facial features, a prominent one in particular slashing a ragged arc through his furrowed brow, making him look older and harder than his years. His hooded eyes were a deep brown, more black in the light, almost the color of the darkness between the stars, and his nose was broad and slightly flattened, then upturned at its tip, which would have given him a haughty air, if it weren’t for the deep scar directly across the bridge. You wondered how he came across these distinctive wounds if he really never did take off his helmet. But it was his mouth you couldn’t tear your eyes away from - the sharp line of his strong jaw left him perpetually unsmiling, but the soft pout of his lips was intoxicating to look upon. You were dying to have those lips on yours, feel them leave a trail of kisses down your neck, across the stretch of your belly towards the wet heat between your legs. Soon .

  This was the infamous Boba Fett, unmasked. A mortal man, after all.

  You stared dumbly at him, your heart hammering in your chest, your limbs trembling where you stood. Your face was impossibly warm, and you could feel the sweat beading on your forehead. This was too much. You were starting to think that maybe you did understand why Fett was never seen without his helmet - creatures the galaxy over would fall before his feet at every turn, more so than they already did. Whole dynasties would crumble for him.

  He was easily the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen in your lifetime. 

  And he was to be yours tonight.

  “What’s the matter with you, girl? Loth-cat got your tongue?” Fett asked as you continued to ogle him like something out of a menagerie, one eyebrow arched questionably, a hint of amusement in his voice as he stalked towards you. You backed up as he did so, your calves hitting the edge of the cot and causing you to fall onto the thin blankets. Your face burned from the display of clumsiness, but Fett acted like he hadn’t noticed. He just continued to stare with those deep dark eyes, the thoughts behind them all but unreadable. 

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare, it’s just… you’re beautiful. ” You stumbled over the words, and felt slightly ashamed. To describe such a hard man with that word seemed almost wrong, sacrilege. You’d heard of the Diathim, mysterious beings that supposedly dwelled on Iego’s moons; known for their uncanny beauty, creatures called them angels. You didn’t care how odd it might sound to others - you felt that if angels truly were real, one was standing before you right now.

  Your declaration was met with a derisive snort and a roll of the eyes on Fett’s end.

  “I’ve been called many things over the course of the years. Most of them aren’t worth repeating in the company of others. But ‘beautiful’ isn’t one I hear very often, nehutyc’ika .” His voice was even and highly controlled, for someone who was nearly naked in the presence of a stranger, although you knew from your talks with Rystáll Sant among others that this was nowhere near Fett’s first casual fling.

  “What does that word mean? Nehut…? You’ve called me that twice now.” You cocked your head in confusion, trying and failing to think of anything to talk about that would distract your feverish mind from the sight in front of you. Fett’s unwavering eye contact and the way he seemed to be drinking you up was starting to make you nervous. Everything was happening so fast .

  “ Nehutyc’ika. It’s Mando’a, the language of my father’s people. It means you’re a feisty one.” He answered matter-of-factly, taking several steps towards you. You sat frozen, looking up at him mutely. You were vaguely aware of how badly your hands were shaking and quickly placed them underneath your thighs to hide them from Fett’s watchful gaze, although you feared it was too late. You were dumbfounded. You still couldn’t believe you were actually here , that the man of your dreams was standing shirtless in front of you - clad in nothing but a towel - and had brought up his family , and was now calling you ‘feisty.’ Was Boba Fett actually flirting with you?

  He took another step forward and dropped the towel.

  Oh.  

  You supposed he was doing more than just flirting now.

  Blinding heat instantly pooled in your cunt, and you gasped from deep in your chest. You couldn’t help it. You hadn’t been expecting this level of boldness - ‘more like sluttiness,’ the whimsical voice in the back of your head chided before you shoved it back down into the recesses of your mind - from Boba Fett. Trembling, you unconsciously scooted away from him on the bunk, your eyes glued to his waist.

  He was huge .

  Not that you had any personal experience to work with, but you’d watched enough holoporn on the ‘Net to know that Boba Fett was packing . He was eight inches at least, thick and veiny, already half-hard. Kark , even his balls were perfect - tight and plump, sitting there nestled in a patch of dark, wiry hair. He gauged your clearly shocked reaction smugly, looking you up and down with a barely perceptible smirk ghosting his features. He was amused by your wide eyes, the hang of your jaw, your tensed limbs.

  “ Hmm . You really are a virgin, aren’t you?” There was laughter in his voice, and - oh, stars - blatant arousal. His cock had twitched as he’d said ‘virgin,’ and your pussy throbbed in reply. Part of you wanted to grab him by the wrists and pull him down on top of you, beg him to satisfy the growing ache between your legs as soon as possible, but instead you could only let out a torrent of stutters.

  “W-...w-why would I lie to you about that? That’s the reason I’m here, i-isn’t it? I w-wanted you to be my first…” You answered faintly. Your tongue felt heavy, your throat tight. It felt as if every molecule of heat in your body was collecting in your cunt, and you hoped the growing damp patch in your panties wouldn’t soak through your dress, let alone into the cot.

  “It wouldn't be the first time a beautiful woman has tried to lie her way into my bed.” His lascivious grin grew broader, and it struck you then just how white and straight his teeth were. You felt dizzy, and your eyelids fluttered. Taking a shuddering breath, you closed your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself. ‘This is what you wanted. You’ve come so far. Don’t let your nerves turn you back now.’ 

  “Not going to get shy on me now, are you, girly?” You opened your eyes when you felt a warm, calloused hand come down on your shoulder, and you had to stifle a surprised yelp. Boba Fett was standing directly over you, looking down on you as if he were a god watching his flock from above. His stiffening cock was level with your nose, and your mouth watered. It was so close that you felt as if you would go cross-eyed if you continued to look at it. You wondered if he expected you to take him in your hand, stroke him, pleasure him with your tongue, but Fett shoved you back by your shoulders, and you landed unceremoniously back on the pillow, shifting your eyes downwards to the foot of the bed. Fett now balanced there, one knee resting on the edge of the cot, exposing himself unabashedly to you. He observed you broodily, his lips slightly pursed, and you wondered if he was expecting you to try and make a run for it, and what he would do if you did. You had the mental image of a completely nude Boba Fett chasing you down the boarding ramp of the Slave I, blaster in hand, penis flopping as he ran, and a hysterical giggle rose to your lips, which Fett silenced with a stern shush.

  “Go on, girl, lay down. Let me help you feel good...” The bounty hunter purred, climbing on the bed to fully kneel before you, reaching out and placing his large hands on either side of your hips, rucking the shimmersilk dress up to rest above your belly button. You breathed heavily through your nose, in and out, hyper-aware of the feeling of Fett’s rough palms on your skin, the warmth radiating through him coming across more like fire licking up your pelvis to your ribcage. You wondered if he could tell just how badly you were shaking under his hands, if he could feel how hot you were for him already; if he did notice, he kept it to himself - he seemed solely focused on that spot between your legs, the junction of your sex that felt almost numb with how turned on you were. It didn’t even register to you at first that you were almost naked in front of a man for the very first time, that maybe you should be embarrassed - stars, he didn’t even know your name, hadn’t even expressed a passing interest in learning it - until you heard the low, animal growl emanating from Fett’s throat, and saw just how greedily he was admiring your soaked panties.

  “Already wet, are you? Good. That’ll make it easier on you.”

  You groaned at his words and covered your face with sweating, trembling hands, your core tensing as you felt your underwear being pulled down around your knees, then your ankles, and finally being harshly yanked off entirely. An arm nudged your knees even further apart, and you gasped, the ship’s cool air bathing your spread pussy lips, the wetness gathered there making it feel even colder. There was a brief pause, and a hand encircled your wrist, pulling your hands away from your eyes. You blinked to see Fett looming over you, the ghost of a smile upon his lips, and he settled to lie between your legs as he made sure you were making direct eye contact with him. You could feel his hot breath on your core, and your head swam. You had Boba Fett between your legs, about to pleasure you with his mouth. It was like something out of your most secret fantasies, but this was real .

  “Keep your hands away from your face, vaar’ika . I want you to watch me taste you. I don’t get to eat unspoiled fruit very often, you know.”

  He buried his face between your legs without another word.

  Oh, stars above.

  You’d never felt anything like this before, and struggled to keep from fainting back against the pillow. His tongue was hot against your cunt, licking warm stripes up and down, lapping up the juices that had collected between your folds as if it were the most delicious nectar he’d ever tasted. Fett hummed against you and the vibrations traveled up your spine like a shock, and you twisted your fists in the blankets, biting your lip to keep from crying out already. His lips latched onto your swollen clit at last and he suckled on the engorged bud hungrily, and you finally allowed yourself to moan. Fett gave a deep rumble in return that you didn’t immediately recognize as laughter due to the fact that his face was nestled against your sex. He was laughing at your reactions to his ministrations, and your face and chest only flushed hotter. Fett’s arms came up for a moment to loop around your thighs, dragging you downwards and causing you to emit a strangled whine, before he settled your legs over his broad shoulders. The change of position - you were practically sitting on his face now - prompted another rush of arousal to flood your needy cunt. Boba Fett groaned appreciatively as his tongue probed inside of you, its tip curled, licking at the opening of your sex. You gasped deeply and arched your back, and Fett grumbled, holding you down as you began to squirm underneath him, digging your heels into his shoulder blades. He turned his mouth back to your clitoris, flickering his tongue methodically back and forth, up and down, swirling circles around the sensitive bud until you began to pant and whimper in earnest. You were so wet that you could hear him eating you out, obscene slurping sounds interspaced with pleased grunts, his nose pressed into your vulva, his hips grinding into the corner of the cot beneath him in an effort to bring himself some pleasure.

  All it took to send you over the edge was an unexpected nip of his teeth to the hood of your clit, and your vision went white. You let out a choked sob, your hips bucking off the cot and your fingers threading through Fett’s tight curls, holding him in place as you rode out your orgasm on his face.

  You weren’t sure how long it lasted, but the waves of your climax finally began to ebb, and you released your hold on Fett’s hair, quivering helplessly in the aftershocks of your first-ever assisted orgasm. Fett released his iron grip on your thighs and raised his head to look at you, and you couldn’t help but let out an overwhelmed squeak at what you saw.

  His chin and mouth were glistening with your arousal, shiny in the light, and your breath stuttered as you watched him slowly lick his lips, his tongue circling to gather every last bit of your cum that had coated his features. It was one of the hottest things you had ever seen in your life - the Boba Fett now sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of you, wiping the rest of your cum from his mouth with the back of one hand and absent-mindedly stroking his cock with the other, observing you with an almost bored expression. His cheeks were ruddy with arousal, the rosy head of his length weeping pre-cum, his dark pupils blown. But despite everything he had just put you through with his mouth alone, he wasn’t even breathing heavily, hadn’t broken a sweat. He looked zen, if anything.

  “...Can I kiss you? Please?” You asked breathlessly, your chest still heaving, leaning back on your elbows on the cot in front of him. The question took him by surprise at first, his eyebrows raising, the scars sprinkled across his features distorting with the movement. And then he laughed , a genuine laugh, oddly musical and light coming from such an imposing figure, so much so that you could help but grin in response, your cheeks hurting from just how hard you were smiling at this show of vulnerability on his part. Fett leaned forward and grabbed you by your biceps and hoisted you into his arms, bringing you to sit straddling one muscular thigh, his skin hot and firm under your pussy, and you felt yourself becoming aroused all over again at the press of his bare flesh against your center. Fett tapped your shoulder and gestured with a curt jerk of his head for you to lift your arms, and he yanked your dress above your head in one smooth movement, tossing it out of sight. You didn’t care if it got ruined, that it had cost you nearly a third of your weekly pay - all you cared about anymore was Boba Fett.

  “I just made you cum and you’re asking if you can kiss me? You’re a strange one, girl. Don’t tell me you’ve never kissed a man before either.” Fett teased, cupping your chin in one hand, his face so close to yours that your foreheads were nearly touching.

  He didn’t give you a chance to answer before he captured your mouth with his.

  You could taste yourself on him, a musky, earthy tone, and you moaned as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, playfully darting at your own and biting at your lower lip. You had never understood when your friends had claimed to have seen fireworks when being kissed, but you could wholeheartedly say that you did now. It felt like the celebrations on Empire Day in the pit of your belly, full of bright sparks and incredible explosions of color.

  Fett hefted one breast in his hand, absently flicking the nipple back and forth with his thumb and kneading the tender flesh as he lazily kissed you, mostly letting you take the reins in your experimentation. You kissed him deeply, your nose digging into his cheek as you turned your head for a different angle against his mouth. You could have kissed Boba Fett forever, your arms around his neck, your chest flush with his, your nude body pliant in his lap, his cock pressed against your thigh. You eventually came up for air, breathing hard, dropping your hands to rest your palms on his brawny chest, searching his face for any sign of what the bounty hunter might be thinking. He simply stared back at you, any and all contemplations he may have had hidden behind a deathly still visage. You thought Fett must be an incredibly adept sabacc player, with that kind of self-control over his expressions.

  “So, this is where you fuck me now, right?” You breathed, and Fett narrowed his eyes, scoffing as if you’d just asked him if Ewoks could speak Basic. He placed his hands on your hips, gripping the flesh there so roughly that you involuntarily let out a hiss of discomfort.

  “Oh no… you’re not nearly ready to take me, not yet. You’re still too tight. Do you want to enjoy this or not?” You’d thought you were getting somewhere; you’d thought that maybe you were actually beginning to see a softer side of Boba Fett, but the annoyance in his voice was palpable. Your face burned with shame. You knew he thought you were an idiot, blinded by lust, eager to use him as your personal fucktoy so you could tell your friends that you had lost your virginity to Boba Fett, and now he was angry with you. You were brought out of your thoughts by a slap to the meat of your ass, just sharp enough to make you yelp and refocus on Fett with widened eyes.

  “ Answer me .”

  You gulped and nodded your head rapidly in response, stammering despite your attempt to remain calm. “Y-yes… I want to enjoy this…”

  Fett reached further around and patted your ass as if praising a beloved pet. “ Very good. Don’t question me again, and don’t go thinking you’re the one in control here. You’re only here because I took pity on you. I could just as quickly throw you off my ship, naked as the day you were born. Don’t think I haven’t done it before. Would you like that, princess , or do you want to continue with our little game?”

  Fett reached between your bodies and pinched at your clit with his thumb and index finger, and you let out a little shriek of surprise, gripping his muscular shoulders. Despite his threats, the broody edge to his voice, his almost violent touches, you didn’t think you’d ever been so turned on in your life. The dangers that seemed to be around every corner concerning this encounter were exciting rather than frightening - even the image of having to make your way home in the nude, a walk of shame after having been cast out from Boba Fett’s company, felt like more of a thrill than anything else. You didn’t even care that he called you ‘princess’ in a clearly derogatory way; as he’d said himself, this was a game, and judging from the pre-cum dribbled down the side of his cock, he was just as willing to play as you were. 

  You raised your eyes to his, drawing your gaze away from his hand, where it was resting on your pubic mound, his thumb just barely grazing your clit. There was an almost mischievous glitter in Fett’s eyes as he waited for your reply, and the slightest pressure he was applying was killing you. In lieu of words, you simply grasped his wrist with a shaky hand and pressed his palm harder into your pussy. Fett let out a deep chuckle in response, and began rubbing your clit tortuously. Humming contentedly, you bucked your hips sloppily, attempting to work up a rhythm in time with Fett’s hand. Your pussy dragged back and forth along the hard expanse of his thigh, your arousal smearing over his skin, making for slicker traction with every push of your waist. Fett looped one strong arm around your middle, holding you steady as you rocked yourself on his leg. He continued to jerk your clit at a frantic pace, his entire hand settled over your dripping cunt, occasionally running his thumb up and down your slit to gather the juices there and spread them along your swollen bud before resuming his direct assault.

  “You love riding my thigh like this, don’t you? Is this what you think about when you’re alone in bed at night, girly, with your pillow between your legs? Rutting your hot little cunt against me like a felinx in heat?” Fett goaded, and you let out a quiet moan in response, tipping your head back and squeezing your eyes closed, focusing on the sensations building in your quim. He knew. You didn’t know how, but it was like he was aware of every single dirty fantasy you’d ever had about him. All you had told him is that you wanted to give yourself to him - nothing more, nothing less. Had he been contemplating what sparked your nocturnal emissions while he was showering earlier in the night? It was true, you thought of bringing yourself to climax this way often - daydreaming scenarios in which you were some faraway planet’s heroine, kidnapped for ransom by a ruthless Mandalorian bounty hunter, forced to grind against him like an animal for his pleasure, a blaster to your temple - but no reverie could ever compare to this.

  The sweet, cresting wave of another orgasm had been building within you for quite some time, both at the urging of Fett’s deft fingers as well as the movements of your own undulating hips against his thigh, when he suddenly took his hand away and stilled your movements with a painful squeeze of your hip, and you cried out pathetically. You’d been so close . Fett clucked his tongue at your begging, and his hand slowly went back to its place between your legs, his fingers crawling further down than before, and you automatically tensed. 

  “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers now, vaar’ika . If you really want to take my cock, I need to open you up more.” Fett warned, circling his thumb over your clit and poking at your entrance with his index and middle fingers. Your breath hitched at the probing, the muscles of your groin bracing for yet another sensation you had never experienced, but you nodded desperately. You were ready for this.

  Fett dragged the digits up and down your slit, back and forth, collecting your wetness, and then dipped them into you slowly, gently. You emitted a whooping gasp at the intrusion, bucking your hips against his fingers as they slipped deeper into your cunt. Fett’s fingers were blunt and thick, and you already felt stretched out deep inside - you wouldn’t call the feeling painful, but your inner muscles fluttered wildly, pushing back against this unknown invasion, and you had to concentrate on keeping your breathing even in an effort to get yourself to relax. Fett stilled his movements as he sensed your muscles contracting uncomfortably around him, and waited for your breathless nod of consent for him to resume. He began gingerly pumping in and out of you, listening for little moans and whimpers on your part to know it was alright to move faster. As his pace increased, he continued rubbing your clit with his thumb, and the unfamiliar pressure of his fingers inside you quickly gave over to a pleasurable massaging sensation that had you groaning aloud. You began to experimentally wriggle your hips against his motions, seeing what felt good, and dug your nails into Fett’s arms as the shifting of your weight back and forth helped guide his probing fingers to a spot deep inside you, one you’d never been able to reach by your own hands. Fett sensed the change in your movements against him, the stutter of your hips against his digits, the sudden gush of wetness dripping onto his palm, and knew he’d found what he was looking for. He curled his fingers up towards himself inside you, pushing in hard against the soft, spongy patch and pulled your cunt back and forth rapidly, reveling in the way you cried out and clutched at him. The sweet pressure within your groin was building rapidly, becoming more intense than anything you’d felt in the past. 

  “I… I think I’m going to…” You stammered weakly, your words punctuated with little whines and squeals of pleasure. You attempted to continue your warning with the words ‘to cum ,’ but you could only let out a loud moan instead, letting the bounty hunter jerk your pussy whichever way he wished. Your face burned, your ears zoning in on the loud squelching noises coming from your cunt as his fingers worked faster and faster, his arm pumping rapidly with the exertion. 

  Fett answered you with a teasing snarl, completely unbothered by your pleading. “ Oh? What’s that? You’re going to cum on my fingers, hmm? If this is enough to make you fall to pieces, just wait until I’ve got my cock in you, girl…”

  That did it. His words, and the insistent, constant press of his fingers against that unbearably sensitive spot deep inside of you, sent you crashing over the edge. You let out a strangled scream, burying your face in the crook of Fett’s neck, scrabbling at his back with your nails as your orgasm devastatingly washed over you. Fett swore loudly as you let yourself go on his fingers, although he showed no signs of slowing, and your face burned with the realization of what was happening. You could feel the buildup of pressure gradually releasing from your cunt, could feel yourself gushing onto his hand and thigh and onto the cot beneath, but in that moment you were beyond caring - every nerve-ending in your body was in ecstasy. 

  It felt like hours had gone by before you finally felt him remove his fingers from within you with a soft wet noise, followed by another dribble of fluid from your core, and let out a choked sob at the sudden emptiness. Boba shifted to rise from the cot and you clumsily slipped off his lap and back onto the blankets, cringing uncomfortably at the wetness beneath you. It was once you were seated and had regained control of your breathing and heart rate that you were aware of just how drenched everything was. The cot was soaked, your ass settled in the center of a large damp patch, the inside of your thighs coated with your own juices. You turned to look at Fett, and your jaw dropped when you saw just how much of your slick was glazing his stomach, his thighs, the arm he had coaxed your orgasm from you with. And he was grinning .

  “You squirted all over me, girl.” To your disbelief, Fett sounded impressed, and the self-congratulatory smirk on his face reflected it. He was curiously inspecting his dripping fingers, rubbing them together, then stuck them in his mouth like a child with a sucker, his eyes boring into you darkly. He pulled the digits free with a noisy pop after a long moment and looked down at his hand, a whispered “ So sweet …” emanating from his lips. You didn’t know whether he’d intended for you to hear him, but the object of your affection speaking in that way, about you - about your arousal - had you feeling weak. You’d never squirted before in your life, and Boba Fett had drawn it out of you within mere minutes. You wanted to repay him for the pleasure he’d given you - twice over, now.

  “I… I want you in my mouth, Boba.”

  He gave a start at your use of his name - it was the first time during this encounter that you had said it aloud, and you didn’t think he’d been expecting you to at all. His cock twitched openly and a bead of pre-cum leaked from the slit at his head, dribbling onto the blanket to join your own mess, and when he spoke, his voice was even rougher, lower, full of flagrant excitement. You expected him to forcefully grab you by your hair and shove your mouth onto him, fuck your skull with wanton abandon, but instead Fett regarded you silently, stroking himself with languid pumps, swirling his thumb across the tip of his cock to spread his arousal down his shaft.

  “I’ll have to teach you. How to suck a man’s cock. Do you want that? Do you really want to suck my cock ?” He rose from the edge of the cot, standing before you as you crawled on your hands and knees towards him. You nodded fervently, not in the least ashamed that you were literally begging for this man’s cock; you no longer cared, you just wanted your lips around him. You’d never given a blowjob before, but you wanted to taste him like he had tasted you. Fett watched you and held himself out straight, one fist gripping the base of his thick member, as you sat yourself before him.

  “Open,” Fett ordered brusquely, and you obediently followed his command, even sticking your tongue out for good measure. This seemed to amuse the bounty hunter, and he smirked, a low rumble of laughter emanating from deep within his broad chest. He jerked himself a few more times as he stood over you, then took another step and laid his heavy cock directly on your tongue. You were surprised at the taste of him - you weren’t sure what exactly you had been expecting, but he tasted of soap, and clean skin, and some sort of minty cologne you’d assumed he’d applied in the ‘fresher, with a hint of salt that intrigued you. It was a distinctly Boba taste, although you didn’t think you’d ever be able to explain what you meant to another living being. As you experimentally wrapped your lips around his girth, careful not to scrape the sensitive skin with your teeth, Fett let out a soft groan, and you felt him reach out to pat your hair. “Yes, that it’s… good girl. ”

  You paused like that for a long moment, focusing on the heat of him in your mouth to distract from the fact that your jaw was already tiring a bit, then dipped your head to take more of him into your mouth, hesitantly suckling on his glans and attempting take him further down your throat before reflexively retching and pulling back. Your face burned with embarrassment as you wiped spittle from the corner of your mouth, and you looked back up at Fett hesitantly, expecting to be reprimanded for this novice’s folly. Instead, he was smirking, and you got the strong sense that he was impressed that he’d made you gag so soon.

  “Go slow, girl. No need to choke yourself. ...Or is my cock too much for that pretty mouth of yours to handle? Here, I’ll show you...” Fett cooed smugly, and he reached out to take your wrist in his large hand, helping you wrap your fingers around his cock. He was throbbing under your touch, and you felt your cunt heating up all over again at the sensation, fresh wetness gathering between your thighs. Fett tapped the underside of your chin once your hand was secured around him, and you opened your mouth, taking him on your tongue of your own accord. He was so heavy, you couldn’t help but let out a groan at the weight of him, and Fett let out a hiss at the feeling your vibrations made against his length. He put one hand on the back of your head, pushing you forward at an excruciatingly slow pace, allowing you to gradually become accustomed to his presence in your mouth without further triggering your gag reflex.

  “No teeth , girly… careful, careful… now suck . Gentle . Use your tongue to massage my cock… there you go, that’s it…” Fett coached as you gingerly swirled your tongue around his head, making sure to pay extra attention to the prominent vein running along the underside of him - maybe you’d never actually done this before, but you liked to think you had an idea of what to do based on all the dirty holovids  you watched. You just couldn’t believe you were actually trying all of this out on Boba Fett himself. He was too girthy for you to swallow him to the hilt, so you shyly brought one hand up to rest shakily on his thick thigh, the skin still damp from your juices, and knead the flesh there, and a jolt went through your pussy as Fett emitted a purr at your ministrations. You reached your other hand out to cup his balls, heavy and hard in your hand, and the bounty hunter’s cock twitched violently in your mouth as you massaged them, almost making you gag again. He groaned under his breath every time you squeezed and rolled his sac, and you relished the feeling of his length spasming against your tongue, the salty sweet taste of his pre-cum filling your mouth. Stars, he was delicious. You wished you could see yourself, on your knees, sucking Boba Fett’s cock, and reprimanded yourself for not having the foresight to bring your holocam, strategically place it somewhere in the room to record tonight’s tryst so you could watch it over and over again. 

  You were just building up a rhythm - digging your nails into Fett’s thigh, occasionally tugging at his balls, and slurping greedily on his cock, when he ended it. With a growled moan, Fett grabbed you by your hair and pulled you off of him, his short nails scratching at your scalp in a way that sent shivers up your spine. He left with your mouth with an audible pop , a string of drool leading from your lips to his glistening glans, which only broke when you placed a chaste kiss to it, grinning up at him. You felt drunk on his cock, if it were possible to be so - he hadn’t even been inside you yet, but you already found yourself yearning for his presence in your life, for this to be more than just a one night stand, a fantasy come to life. You didn’t think you’d ever not be able to envision the gorgeous creature standing in front of you the next time you saw the faceless entity who prowled after bounties featured on the nighttime HoloNews.

  “But I wanted to make you cum …” You pouted as Fett wordlessly pushed you onto your back on the bed, walking forward on his knees until he was nestled between your spread legs. He pressed his arms into the cot on either side of your head, holding himself up above you, his face hovering above yours. You could feel his hot breath on your skin and wanted to place your hand on the back of his neck, draw his mouth to yours, but you found yourself frozen in place, staring up at him wide-eyed, your hands clasped to your breasts.

  “No, vaar’ika. Not yet. I want to cum with that tight little virgin pussy of yours squeezing me.” Fett crooned sweetly, and you whined loudly at his words, bucking your hips up, trying in vain for your sopping core to make contact with his dangling cock, but he pulled away, rising to sit back between your knees, his member rosy and standing at attention, a clear drop of pre-cum beading at its tip. You laid beneath him, spread out and open, and Fett pushed your thighs apart even further, positioning himself at your entrance. He began rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb, pressing in slow circles, and you mewled appreciatively.

  “I’m not going to lie to you. This will hurt.” Fett warned, leaning forward slightly and skimming the head of his cock up and down your slit. With every swipe, his heavy glans would catch on your swollen clit, and you had to stop yourself from grabbing him in your hand, keeping him positioned there so you could get off from the friction alone. You were so wet that you could hear the slick sound of his hardness passing through your folds, and that alone eradicated any doubt in your mind that this was what you wanted. You needed him inside of you more than anything else. It was time. There was no turning back. You didn’t care if it would be painful. Not anymore.

  “Boba, please . I’m ready for this. I’ve always been ready. I want this… I want you .” You urged him, and he nodded curtly in acknowledgement. It was then that the realization hit you - in your rush to leave your flat earlier in the night, you’d forgotten perhaps one of the most important things. Your roommate always stored contraception in your shared ‘fresher, which you’d completely bypassed in your mad rush to get to the Paradise Atrium and find Boba Fett. Now you were here, about to do the deed with the man himself, without any sort of protection, and you’d only remembered at the last possible moment. 

  “ Wait . I’m… I’m not on anything. Do you… ?” You began, and cringed to yourself, fully expecting Fett to rise and demand you to get out of his sight for your stupidity, cast you out into the night like he threatened to do earlier. Instead, you were met with a huff and a shake of his curly head, and he patted your inner thigh. Again, he looked smug, almost proud of himself.

  “I have an implant, girl. If I didn’t, I’d have bastards the galaxy over. You came all this way with nothing of your own? Hmm. Interesting . Now just relax… ” Boba replied, and you nodded, feeling faint. Of course he had an implant, why hadn’t you considered that? You supposed you ought to look into getting one too, but your thought was interrupted by something hard and hot and blunt poking at your folds, and you cast your eyes downward to watch as Fett spread your lips with the fingers of one hand, using his other to line up his cock with your hole.

  He entered you slowly, with a gentle nudge, just the tip breaching your entrance, and you involuntarily cried out despite yourself. He was so big already. The stretch was unlike anything you’d felt, it was as if your opening was going to tear, and you silently reprimanded yourself for thinking his karking fingers alone had been too thick for you. Your hips canted upwards to try and escape the discomfort, and Fett laid a massive, warm hand flat against your belly, ceasing his movements as well as your own squirming, shushing you.

  “Easy, little one, easy . I’ve only just started to enter you. This is nothing . Are you absolutely sure you can handle the rest of me? You’re allowed to change your mind if you don’t want this after all. I can still turn you loose…” Fett offered, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the skin of your tummy in a way that was shockingly comforting, coming from such a harsh character. The weight of his hand on your stomach was oddly grounding, and you closed your eyes, taking several deep breaths through your nose, and nodded for him to continue. 

  He slid into you further and it was like a rod of flame had been inserted up your cunt. You yelped, biting back a proper scream as you involuntarily hunched away from the invading presence. Fett held your hips down, preventing you from squirming away further, and immediately stopped his movements once more. He wasn’t even fully sheathed within you yet, but the pain was unbelievable. You didn’t imagine that it could hurt this much, especially with how wet you were. He was just so huge , you couldn’t fathom how the rest of him would fit inside of you. There were already tears of frustration filling your eyes at having to stop him again so soon, and you gazed upwards at the bounty hunter, who was looking down at you with a completely unreadable expression. Your hands were gripping his forearms and you could feel just how taut the muscles there were, how much self-control it was taking him to keep from pounding into you like a wild beast despite your discomfort, and you admired him for that. You wanted him deep inside you, you wanted him to finish the job, fully claim you at last - you wished he would just push forward with one savage thrust and break you open already.

  “If you keep crying out like this and trying to move away from me, vaar’ika , we’ll be stuck here all night.” Fett said simply, looking down between your bodies at where you were partially joined. You followed his gaze as well, your eyes growing wider as you took notice of his hard length sitting between your legs, halfway vanished into your quivering pussy. You felt sweat gathering on your brow, underneath your breasts, and the sight brought a fresh wave of arousal flooding through your cunt. Fett obviously felt it, as he let out a soft groan and you felt the tip of his member twitch within you, and a delicious shiver of pleasure went up your spine. That sensation alone made you want to wiggle forward yourself, despite the pain, and impale yourself on him fully. You squeezed Fett’s arms and he raised his head to look into your eyes, his gaze boring into yours. The arousal in his eyes was intoxicating.

  “Boba, I… I want you to move. Just do it, even if I scream or cry or try to get away. I give you my full permission. If… if I need you to stop, really stop, I’ll tap your shoulder three times. Is… is that okay?” You asked nervously, already feeling yourself begin to shake from the anticipation of what was coming. You wanted this more than anything , and now it was actually happening. You couldn’t have imagined you would actually be here even a few mere hours ago, underneath Boba Fett in the pilot’s quarters of the Slave I , about to lose your virginity to him. You expected to wake up in your own bed any moment, the night’s events having been just an incredibly vivid dream. Boba Fett didn’t answer your request with words. His eyes shifted to the side, almost imperceptibly, as he considered your proposition, and then, silently, he brought one hand up to rest on your flushed cheek. You took a shaky inhale as he gently craned his neck to place a kiss on your sweaty forehead, then dipped lower to capture your mouth in his.

  In one smooth, hard motion, Boba Fett snapped his hips upward, forward, and claimed you for his own.

  Your eyes flew open and you let out a muffled scream against his mouth, your feet kicking out briefly, your hips jerking, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades. It felt as if you’d been torn open from the inside, like a blade had been thrust up into you, and the stretch was immense. You couldn’t fathom how the whole of him had fit. Your vaginal canal burned terribly, and you couldn’t help but let out several loud sobs at the overwhelming sensation of being filled so deeply. Fett broke his kiss and stared down at you, still buried to the hilt inside of you, unmoving.

  “ Easy there, little one . Look at me. I’m inside of you, see? You’re no longer a virgin, at last. How do you feel? Do you want me to stop?” Fett hummed softly, brushing away the tears that streamed down your face with the pad of his thumb, his hips flush with yours. You could feel the dark patch of pubic hair at his groin against your vulva, and the sensation was somehow soothing. Your cunt involuntarily clenched around his member, gradually becoming used to the feeling of him as time dragged on, and you were surprised that you could feel his hardness, the ridges of his glans pressed into your inner walls, the veins on his cock against you. The pain was receding, little by little, as Fett remained motionless and let you get used to his presence. It occurred to you that he was waiting for you to give him permission to move, and your walls fluttered.

  “No, no, please don’t pull out. Oh, kriff … it hurts , but it’s getting better. You’re so big . I feel so full. But… I just can’t believe…” You gasped, struggling for words. You swore you could feel Boba Fett in your guts, were shocked that you couldn’t see a bulge in your lower belly where his cock was nestled inside of you, that’s how big he felt. Fett let out an amused chuckle, cutting off your words by pressing a blunt finger to your lips.

  “Well, you’d better start believing it… you’ve got a bounty hunter inside of you. Tell me when I can move, mesh’la . I’m getting restless.” Fett replied, and it was then that you noticed the sweat beading his forehead as well, the way his speech was coming in harsh pants, how his arms were shaking with need above you. He needed to move . You could feel your swollen cunt becoming hotter and hotter, your natural lubrication helping to ease the pinching burn that had settled deep within you, and you found you wanted him to move too. Your tears had dried for the most part, although you had a feeling he’d have you weeping again soon enough. You shakily moved your hands up to cup Fett’s sharp cheekbones, his eyes locking onto yours with the movement. The words that next left your lips, barely above a whisper, were ones that you never imagined you would find yourself saying to this man, but they resulted in an amorous growl that sent a thrill through your bloodstream and straight to your pussy.

  “Fuck me, Boba.”

  His first few thrusts shook your entire body, and you let out a grunting squeal for each one, your breasts jiggling from the force of them, although Fett still moved slowly. It wasn’t until you wrapped your legs around his calves, pulling him in closer, and settled your palms on the tense cheeks of his ass, urging him to pump into you harder, faster, that he began to really fuck you. With every thrust, your pain turned more and more into pleasure, a white-hot ball tightening within your belly until it felt as if liquid fire was seeping through every inch of your body. If this was what being fucked was like, you never wanted it to end.

  “ Stars , princess… you’re so kriffing tight . The tightest little pussy I’ve ever fucked… you’re going to make me cum soon…” Fett groaned, and you let out a keening wail in response, focused only on the feeling of his cock massaging your walls, his glans bumping that same spongy spot inside you that his fingers had seemed to find immediately, the obscene slap of his thighs colliding with yours again and again and again. You could hear your own juices sloshing against his cock’s pounding, a squelching that only became louder and wetter as your movements continued. 

  Neither one of you lasted very long. Combined with Boba’s slow, deep strokes into your pussy, and his fingers dancing over your clit, helping you along towards yet another climax, you found yourself hoarsely shouting his name over and over again, your nails raking red slashes down his back in pure ecstasy. Fett lifted up your hips into his hands, arching your bottom off the cot, his angle becoming impossibly deeper, and you shrieked aloud. You wondered if the durasteel walls of the Slave I were soundproof, but found that you didn’t care. You didn’t care whether the entirety of Cloud City heard Boba Fett fucking you - you wanted them to. This was happening , you had manifested this for yourself through nothing but determination, and if the whole colony heard you being claimed by the galaxy’s most feared bounty hunter, so be it.

  “Cum for me, girl. That’s it, let go… cum all over my cock, like you’ve always wanted to…” Fett urged you, his own voice shaking as he frantically worked your clit with his fingers, his thrusts becoming manic and sloppy. You could tell he was getting close - you could feel his cock twitching violently inside of you, preparing to shoot his load up into you. Your own orgasm hit you unexpectedly, just one expertly angled stroke from Fett’s length, a circular grind of his hips, and your vision instantly blacked out. You felt as if a thermal detonator had gone off in your pussy, and all sound seemed to go out of the room. Your mouth was gaping open, you knew you were screaming at the top of your lungs, but all you could hear was a high-pitched static noise, you were so far gone. You didn’t even hear Fett’s answering groan as he spilled his seed inside of you moments later, the clamping of your walls around his cock proving to be too much for him to withstand. The feeling of him emptying his balls within you was unlike anything you had ever felt before, and only served to bring your peak to a new height. You could feel him pulsating, your cunt milking him for all that it was worth, his hot spunk filling you up, marking you where no one else ever had before.

  The next thing you remembered was lying in Boba Fett’s arms, weeping openly into the crook of his neck. You weren’t sure if you had momentarily passed out from the pleasure, but you had no memory of him flipping you over so that you were lying atop him, draped across his broad chest, his cock still sheathed within you, a strong but pleasant ache settled deep between your thighs - a lingering effect of your lost virginity. Fett, despite all of his cultivated roughness, let you cry it out, one arm thrown lazily across your waist, his free hand cupping the back of your head. His fingers scratched at your scalp, and you could have sworn you heard him murmuring softly in a guttural tongue, possibly that Mando’a he occasionally spoke in - the idea that he may’ve been trying to comfort you in his own awkward way only made you cry harder. Your sobs finally ebbed away into sniffles and quiet hiccups after a short while, and Fett slowly rolled you off of him, his cock leaving you with a wet squelch that gave your oversensitive clit a jolt and left you feeling sore and empty. You laid on the bed and watched Boba Fett’s cum ooze out from between your legs and onto the blankets, stained pink from your breaking in, and you flushed as he rose and stood at the foot of the cot, cleaning both your arousals from his softening cock with a cloth he’d retrieved from a compartment hidden in the wall. You wished you could have kept his cum inside of you forever, in a way, although you supposed the bruises his mouth and fingers had left on your skin would serve as reminders as well. You still couldn’t believe the night events had really happened, after so long.

  “Are you alright, girl? You came quite hard. I thought you were going to break my cock right off, the way you were clenching me. How do you feel, now that you’ve been properly fucked?” His tone was one of gentle teasing, and he glanced back over his shoulder at you, a smirk upon his pouty lips. 

  “That… that was incredible. I’m sorry, it’s just… I can’t believe I just got fucked by Boba Fett .” You replied, and hid your face in your hands, embarrassed as soon as the words had tumbled from your mouth. Fett, good-natured and relaxed after a satisfying fuck, snorted and shook his head. He sauntered past the cot on his way to the ‘fresher and patted your thigh as if to assure you that ‘ Yes, you sweet little fool, all of your wildest dreams have come true.’ He didn’t think he’d ever understand these beings who sought him out as part of their bizarre fantasies, but he didn’t care - it got him laid, and sometimes the temporary company was even enjoyable. This hopeless romantic of a virgin - well, former virgin - had been one of the better ones. As he took one last glance at you before the door slid shut, as you nodded off in his bed, Fett found himself feeling glad he hadn’t rejected your advances, as he’d originally been planning to do. It was a shame he couldn’t keep you around a while longer - you were easy to please, and so eager to learn - but there was business to be done tomorrow, and it was nothing that an innocent girl like you should be caught up in. 

  Not this time, anyway.

  -

  The first light of dawn was just beginning to emerge over the swirling mists of tibanna gas that enclosed Cloud City, and you were in a panic. You’d been awakened from your blissed out slumber by the incessant bleating of your comlink, buried within the confines of your purse, which lay in a heap along with your clothing on the durasteel floor of Boba Fett’s transport, the Slave I . Jumping up from the cot and wincing at the sharp sting radiating from between your legs, you’d rifled through your belongings until you’d uncovered the damn contraption. Pressing the button on the side, a scrawl of Aurebesh sprang into being, and your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. Dank farrik. Your roommate.

  ‘Where are you?’ The urgency of the message was clear, having been sent thrice over the past half hour. You’d be surprised if they hadn’t already raised the alarm, that the Wing Guard wasn’t already out combing the city for you. They’d begged you to be home by dawn, and by the sound of the traffic outside, it was more around the time of the typical morning commute, a full hour or so later.

  You had to leave. Now .

  There was no sign of Boba Fett.

  You didn’t remember falling asleep after your tryst the previous night, but you had a vague memory of Fett waking you in the night and ordering you into the ‘fresher to urinate, and you’d been alone in the pilot’s quarters when the comm had begun chirping later on, fully waking you up. It didn’t look like anyone else had joined you on the cot overnight, and as you’d scrambled to scoop up your bag and don last night’s outfit - you were pretty sure your dress was inside out, but you found yourself beyond caring - and descend the ladder leading back into the cockpit area, you’d discovered where Fett had gone. He sat motionless in the pilot’s chair, fully armored and helmeted, studying a holo of what appeared to be the inner passageways of the Administrator’s Palace that was being projected from the ship’s dash, emanating a flickering, ghostly blue light in the early morning rays visible through the viewport. You stopped short across from the chair, and although Fett’s head didn’t turn even a hair, you knew he was watching you, wondering what you were doing.

  “I have to go. I was supposed to be home by now and my roommate’s going to kill me.” You explained briefly, then dashed towards the ramp leading to the docking bay outside. You felt as if you had become part of a child's bedtime story, a maiden whose jewel-encrusted gown would disintegrate to rags, whose enchanted ship would transform back into a jogan fruit if she didn’t return home by the stroke of midnight. This was all over too soon. As you rushed down the platform, you wondered whether Fett would say anything or if that would be it, if he would just watch you run off into the sunrise and consider his work done. You’d made it just beyond the confines of the ship’s overhang when you heard the telltale sound of spurs from behind you, slow and methodical steps. You stumbled to a halt and turned back to face the Slave I. Boba Fett stood there motionlessly, observing you.

  “Tell me, sarad’ika. Was it everything you've dreamed of?” The helmeted figure asked slyly, standing on the boarding ramp of his imposing, mottled ship, one hand resting casually on the overstuffed utility belt at his waist, the other dangling free at his side. You felt yourself flush at his question, knowing he was most likely grinning lecherously underneath his Mandalorian armor, but you still nodded, shifting your weight anxiously from one foot to the other. His gaze still penetrated your very soul from behind that black, T-shaped visor, made you feel so vulnerable.

  “Yes. And more. I… I don’t know what to say, other than… thank you.” You softly replied. You wondered, foolishly, if he was expecting payment for his services. Did he consider his conquest of you to be a job of sorts? Your answer came with a sharp gesture of his hand, cutting a quick line across the morning air between the two of you.

  “Then don’t say anything.” With a barely perceptible nod, Fett turned on his heel and began to make his way back into the confines of his ship. Something about watching him walk away from you made your heart hurt, although you doubted you would ever be able to explain why. You wondered whether you could make something more of this, something long-term and lasting, perhaps beyond your better judgement. You wanted to feel his mouth on yours again, and still felt his presence inside of you, the throb left behind by his considerable length filling you, and you already knew that you’d never want anyone else. You were addicted. You stepped forward, back towards the Slave I and its retreating owner, hopeful. If Rystáll Sant could do it, why couldn’t you?

  “Boba, wait. ” 

  Fett’s form stilled, halfway up the ramp, and he turned to face you once more, the dented helmet cocked to one side, obviously intrigued as to what you had to say. You had a feeling he knew what was coming and your stomach somersaulted at the thought, but you heard the words leave your mouth anyway, heard the pining in your voice despite your best efforts to sound neutral, unattached.

  “When can I see you again?” 

  ‘ Fierfek, you stupid girl. Now he’ll think you’ve gone and fallen in love with him, just because he was your first fuck …’ Your mind swam, and you wished you could rewind time, seal your mouth shut, take back the words as soon as you had spoken them, until you saw that Fett was sauntering down the ramp towards you. You froze, every muscle in your body turning to ice, as he strode towards you, coming to a stop directly in front of you. He was close enough that you could have reached out and placed your hands on his chest, thrown your arms around his neck, but you found you didn’t have the courage.

  “You can’t.” Fett answered you brusquely, emotionlessly, and you felt like he had slapped you across the face. You weren’t sure what exactly you’d been expecting when he’d approached you. The bounty hunter deftly reached out and cupped your chin between his index finger and thumb, pinching the skin in his grip and holding your gaze level with his. That visor was so dark, but you were so close you still could've sworn that you could see his face through the darkened T-shape, and that he was smiling . He released his grip and tapped the underside of your chin with his fingers, in an oddly playful manner. “Run along, little one. Go home. You don’t want to get into any more trouble now, do you?”

  With that, he whirled back around, cape flapping on his shoulder, marching solemnly back into the blackness concealing the innards of the Slave I. The ramp closed behind him with an anticlimactic hiss , and Boba Fett was gone from your life, just as quickly as he had entered it.

  Your ‘walk of shame’ back to your apartment felt more like a victory march, and when you walked into your living quarters, your roommate rushed towards you and demanded to know what had happened, where you had been, if you were okay. You only gave them a knowing smile. Maybe someday you’d share the story of your night with Boba Fett, but for now, you thought you’d let them try to put the pieces together on their own.

  Later that evening, when Baron Calrissian announced the Imperial takeover of Cloud City and the evacuation orders were given, as you packed a bag full of necessities and boarded a transport out of the city and listened to the whispered rumors that Han Solo had been frozen in carbonite and abducted from the Administrator’s Palace by a mercenary wearing Mandalorian armor, you couldn’t help but smile. 

  ‘Well, kriff. He’s actually done it.’ You thought smugly, grinning to yourself amidst a sea of panic. You hoped Boba Fett had been able to escape off-world with his bounty before the Wing Guard had sealed the docking bays, but you didn’t think you truly had anything to worry about. There was a reason why he was considered the best in the business. 

  Boba Fett had done it. 

  Right after he’d done you.