#WAS ASSIGNED WHEN THEY FIRST CAME OUT OF THE WOMB YOU

[transxfiles]

we need to abolish the sex binary now and i mean it

[beckyninja]

The End... And the Beginning

Pairing: SalamanderOC x FemReader

Warnings: Wedding night spiciness abounds! MDNI

Description: Finally, Nev'ran and his Diamond get their happy ending, and a start to a new life.

This is the end of these two's story for now, though I do plan on returning to them in the future. I've had so much fun writing them and their love story. Find the chapters leading up to this finale on my Masterlist.

(And don't forget to ask if you'd like to be added/removed from the Taglist.)

The brand over your heart still stung. You didn’t mind, running your fingers over the mark as you sat on the edge of the bed. Your eyes travelled around the large room. The intricate wall carvings. The metallic mosaics. The massive floor cushions you could sink into and never find your way out again.

So very different from our quarters aboard the Flamewrought.

A smile flitted across your face as you remembered Nev’ran leading you to his clan house, a dwelling so seamlessly carved from the stone of the city-sized cavern, that it seemed to have grown from the floor. To be honest, you’d first found the structure a tad forbidding.

Nev’ran had sensed your tension.

***

“I have not returned here since the passing of my youngest grand-niece,” he said apologetically. “I am afraid it has lain empty for… longer than I care to remember.”

You smiled up at him. “The Chaplain said it was my duty as your wife to bring light and life. I might as well start here.”

A look of awe came into his fiery eyes. “My wife.”

Then he scooped you into his arms and carried you, giggling, across the threshold.

***

The great door, carved with twining dragons, swung open to reveal your husband. He still wore his wedding robes of deep green and ebony, though now loosened to display the muscled expanse of his chest. They revealed the new brand placed on his chest between his two hearts.

Your heart leapt at the sight.

He carried two bowls of what smelled like stew in his hands, one significantly larger than the other. Nudging the door with his foot, he frowned at the creaking of the hinges.

“One more thing I need to repair.” He rumbled.

“How long is the list now?”

“Too long.”

You laughed and beckoned him closer. He approached, handing you one of the bowls. The spicy scent filled your nostrils and your stomach growled.

“Throne, I haven’t eaten since last night. Did you make this?”

How strange it was to see a fierce Space Marine look bashful. “I did. I hope I was successful, it has been some time since I cooked.”

“It smells wonderful.”

 You dug in, using flatbread to shovel meat and sauce into your mouth with reckless abandon. After a moment, you realized he watched you.

You swallowed and blushed. “Not very refined of me, is it?”

“You honor me with your appetite.” A mischievous glint came into his eyes. “I can fetch water if you require it.”

“Nev,” you scoffed, “if I haven’t grown used to spices by now, I never will.” You gestured toward his own bowl. “Now eat!”

“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled.

You ate in silence. But not the cold, empty silence you’d known before. This felt… comfortable. You snuggled up to his side, basking in his presence. Inhaling, you could still smell the red-hot metal from a few hours ago, when the two of you stood, facing each other across a fiery brazier.

***

The emerald green robe covered you from neck to foot, thick material meant to protect your skin from flying embers. A veil likewise concealed your face and the sweat rolling down it. If not for the priestess assigned to fan you from behind, you felt you might have fainted from the sweltering heat.

The Chaplain’s chanting seemed never-ending. You barely understood the prayers, rumbled in the ancient Nocturnean tongue you’d only recently begun to study, but knew he asked the Emperor to bless your union. 

You managed to pick up the words “fruitful” and “womb” and blushed.

Finally, the elder Salamander ceased and approached the brazier. Your heart leapt to your mouth as he lifted a branding iron from the flames and held it out for you to take. Somehow, your fingers remained steady as you grasped the handle with gloved hands.

The Chaplain switched to Gothic. “Repeat after me, child. With this brand….”

You prayed your voice could be heard over the crackling fire. “With this brand, I seal you, Nev’ran, to me. Fire-forged in bonds of duty and love, unbreakable forever more. In the names of Vulkan our father, and his father who sits the Golden Throne eternal, I do this.”

Nev’ran opened his robe, and you pressed the brand to his flesh.

He never broke eye contact, even as his skin seared. The love in his gaze burned away your nerves.

Then he took the iron offered to him and repeated the same vow. The sincerity in his words brought tears to your eyes, and you opened your own robes. He lifted the brand, hesitating as an unspoken question passed between you.

You nodded slightly. You wanted this.

Still, the pain almost caused you to cry out. You squeezed your eyes shut, sucking air through your clenched teeth as the smaller brand pressed into your skin. Almost as quickly as it was there, it was removed, and the priestess behind you stepped forward to smear a numbing salve over the burn.

“Joined in fire!” The Chaplain intoned.

The chapel rang with the cheers of those who’d come to witness your union. But you only had eyes for your husband.

***

Nev’ran swallowed the last few bites of his stew without tasting them. His eyes fixed on you. His Diamond.

My wife.

He still had trouble processing the fact. It seemed only yesterday you kissed him for the first time, as a corrupted colony burned beneath them. The dragon within had demanded he make you his without delay. The man had urged patience. Despite your smile, you had been fragile.

He remembered having to restrain you as you scrubbed your skin raw in the baths that first night. He remembered the many nights that followed, when you had clung to him, seeking refuge from relentless nightmares. 

He’d held you as you cried, watched over your battered mind and body as you slowly healed. 

Nev’ran thanked the Emperor every day you’d shown no signs of corruption. If you had… if he’d been forced to….

He pushed the unbearable thought away.

“What has you looking so glum?” Your voice roused him from his reverie. “Regretting saddling yourself with me already?”

Shocked, he prepared to refute such a preposterous statement. Then he saw your smirk.

“You are teasing me.”

“I am.” You laughed.

By Vulkan’s burning eyes, I love that sound.

Setting his empty bowl aside, he caught you up in his arms, burying his face in your neck. You squealed as he wiggled his fingers against your sides.

“Dangerous to tease a dragon, my love.”

He continued his assault against your sensitive body until you writhed in his grasp, tears of laughter running down your cheeks. His own deep guffaws mingled with your sounds of mirth. No longer the sad, fearful ice maiden. Freedom from the shackles of your old life had transformed you. You glowed with an inner fire he’d always known burned somewhere deep within.

Finally, he relented. You lay limp and gasping in his arms. 

“I… should never have… told you I… was ticklish.”

“A mistake I intend to exploit.” 

“Cruel dragon.” You pouted.

He relaxed his grip. He should’ve known better. 

With a triumphant cry you lurched upward and poked a finger directly into a neural port on his abdomen. Sensation ripped like wildfire through his nerves, sending sparks through his brain. Vision blurred as his abdominal muscles contracted involuntarily, a deep groan tearing from his throat.

“Throne! Nev, I’m sorry!”

He panted. Soft little hands cupped his cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to press so hard! I-”

Your words died as his eyes snapped open. He saw the light in your eyes, the pulse in your throat. He followed a bead of sweat as it rolled from your neck down between your breasts.  

Over your brand. His brand.

“Diamond….” He growled.

That scent… my mate’s scent….

Grasping the back of your head in one hand, he covered your mouth with his own.

***

You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t care. Everything in you surrendered to the man kissing you like he meant to devour you whole. 

I’d let him.

You’d been starved for his touch. First there had been the interviews with the Chaplain of the Salamanders’ 4th Company. The man’s grimness intimidated you at first, before you learned of the deep kindness behind his stoic facade. He’d explained to you what it meant to be the wife of an Astartes, the difficulties you would experience, the trials, the expectations. 

He’d emphasized the need for discretion when the Company encountered other Chapters or Imperial agencies.

When he found your responses satisfactory, he moved on to Chapter history and customs. The lectures lasted the entire remainder of the trip to Nocturne. In your brief moments of respite, when you took meals with Matia and Lili, you’d joked about feeling like a neophyte.

Matia had recounted tales of her own instruction with the Chaplain, after Hur’reth’s proposal. Though, already being a daughter of Nocturne, you doubted her education had been so exhaustive.

Lili mostly remained quiet, still mourning the loss of her family and home. She’d been taken in by an older serf couple aboard the Flamewrought, and seemed to be adjusting well last you saw her.

With everything, you and Nev’ran had been lucky to snatch a few scant minutes together each day. Though you’d made sure to make the most of them.

You moaned into his mouth, hungry for more. You ran your hands over his hard chest. Even now, his sheer power amazed you. Your fingers traced the bumps and ridges of innumerable scars and brands. Each a testimony to his prowess in battle.

An image of him tearing through a horde of monsters to reach you sent heat rippling through your veins. You trembled. When his tongue pushed past your lips, you welcomed it. 

Then he pulled away and you whined, clawing at his chest to pull him back to you. Another growl rumbled through him.

Next you knew, you lay flat on your back on the firm mattress of the bed. He crawled atop you. His movements reminded you of some great predator, and a primitive part of your brain shrilled a warning. But desire overruled all caution.

“Nev’ran….”

His chest heaved like a forge’s bellows. Flame danced in his eyes. Rocking up on his knees, he stretched forth huge hands and grasped the edges of your robe.

Then, all at once, you were no longer in the bedroom. No longer on Nocturne. The mattress beneath you turned to slimy stone. The hands on your body turned cold and hard. Mad eyes leered down at you from a cadaverous face.

“NO!”

***

The cry extinguished Nev’ran’s ardor like cold water. He jerked back, watching in bewildered dismay as you clawed out from under him, curling into a trembling ball.

“Diamond?”

You stared through him. “Nonono…!”

“Diamond, what is wrong?” He pivoted, searching the chamber for any threat that could explain your panic, hands reaching for something to use as a weapon. 

A whimper drew him back. You’d covered your face with your hands. Your shoulders shook.

Realization struck him. He’d encountered enough traumatized baselines in his long years of service to know the signs. So he moved slowly, approaching but not touching.

“It is all right. You are safe.”

The salty tang of tears filled his nose. Your whimpers turned to sobs. Everything in him screamed to pull you into his arms, but he forced himself to remain still.

“I am here. Nothing will hurt you.”

He repeated the words over and over again, hearts breaking, until at last you seemed to hear.

“N-Nev’ran?”

“Yes, Diamond. I am here.”

Your hands dropped away and you stared at him with wide, wet eyes. Then you threw yourself into his arms.

“I… I’m sorry.”

“No.” He wrapped himself around you, armoring you with his body.

“I just… when you touched me I saw… him.”

Nev’ran fought the rage threatening to erupt like a volcano within. 

I should have taken my time with that abomination. I should have ripped him limb from limb and fed him to the fire like kindling. I should have-

“I ruined everything.” 

Your tiny voice shattered him. “No, Diamond. No! Nothing is ruined. I should have realized you were not ready. We will stop.” He tucked your head beneath his chin.

For now, this is enough.

You were silent for a while. “I… I don’t want to stop.”

He loosened his grip as you pulled back to look up at him. The determination in your eyes made him smile. He cupped your face, wiping away the remainder of your tears with his thumb.

“Do not push yourself. We have time, and I desire nothing but your pleasure.”

He watched the color return to your pale face. You settled on your knees, head barely reaching his chest, and reached out to run your fingers over his skin once more. He sucked in a breath, body stirring. Your hands fell to the cloth belt at his waist.

He covered them with his own. “You are sure?”

You nodded. “Yes but… I’ve never… you know I’ve never….”

You’d told him of your inexperience. The thought of possessing what no other man had touched made his dragon purr. 

But he would not be selfish. “I should not have lost control before. We will go slowly now. Tell me what you want.”

“... can I see you?”

Throne, she cannot know what she does to me.

He let her untie the belt, and shrugged his robe from her shoulders. As custom dictated, he was bare beneath. She stared. His shoulders tensed.

“I know this old drake is not much to look at.” 

***

Your mouth dropped. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be! 

You’d thought the merest glimpse of his chest arousing. And now that he knelt, completely unclothed, before you, heat pooled in your lower stomach. He was an ebon statue come to life. Worn, perhaps, and cracked, with edges softened by time. But these details only made him that much more striking. 

“You’re beautiful.” You breathed.

You hadn’t thought it possible for his face to darken even further, but it did.

“That is… not something I have oft been called.”

You barely heard his words, eyes drawn to what bobbed between his thighs. Hard and thick and huge.

“Throne….”

Nev’ran said nothing, but you felt his tension like an animal poised to spring. You knew he wouldn’t, though. Not without your consent.

“Can I touch it?” You blushed at your own words.

“Please.”

His deep growl made the blood rush in your veins. Reaching out, you ran a single finger down its length. He whined.

You jerked back. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes.” He seemed to shake himself. “And no. Forgive me, Diamond. It has been so very long since….”

Pleasure. I’m giving him pleasure.

The thought sent a rush through you. You cupped your hand around his length, your fingers unable to meet, and stroked.

He threw his head back with a gasp. “For the love of the primarch, woman!”

“I’m sorry-”

“Do not be. I am yours to explore, only,” he gave a breathless laugh, “I do not know how much more this old body can take.”

“Stop calling yourself that. You’re in your prime.” Growing bold, you stroked again. 

“Ahhh,” he moaned, eyes snapping to yours.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked desperate. “May I see you now, my love?” 

You hesitated only a moment before slipping your own robe off your shoulders. Despite the warmth of the room, and the heat radiating from your husband, your skin pebbled. You found you couldn’t look him in the face.

What if he doesn’t like what he sees?

You needn’t have worried.

“Vulkan’s burning eyes,” you shivered at his drawn-out sigh, “you put your namesake to shame, my Diamond.”

“Nev, touch me?”

He groaned. “Tell me where.”

Biting your lip, you motioned to your waist, and gasped when hands encircled it. Calloused skin pressed against yours, thick fingers sank into the flesh of your belly. 

“So soft. I’d almost forgotten.” He seemed to speak to himself.

Reaching up, you could barely brush your fingertips over his cheek. “Nev’ran, higher.”

The hands slid up your abdomen, over your ribcage, and paused beneath your chest. “May I?”

“You may.”

You gasped when he caressed your breasts. He squeezed gently, cupped, and lifted. When his rough thumbs brushed over your hardening nipples you gasped out loud.

“Do that again!”

He chuckled and obeyed. Now it was your turn to throw your head back as you basked in pleasure. Your eyes opened to find Nev’ran bent nearly double, face inches from your chest.

His eyes searched yours, and you nodded. Then his lips closed over your nipple and you moaned. You could have spent hours like that, with his mouth alternating between your breasts. But far too soon he pulled back.

***

Nev’ran revelled in the dazed look on your face, a look he’d put there. The memory of your fingers on him spurred him on. His dragon roared to take and claim. 

But he would be patient.

“More?” You whispered.

He smiled and released your breasts, sliding his hands back down your body until his thumbs rested on the crease between your hips and thighs. He pressed further. You stiffened, mouth opening. Your scent thickened.

“May I touch you here?”

No sooner had you voiced assent than he cupped your mound. He stroked the soft curls there, drinking in the sounds you sang for him. 

“So sensitive, my Diamond. But there is more and better to come. Let me show you.”

When his fingers first encountered your wetness he had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek. He wanted… wanted. 

But I will… maintain… control.

And so he slipped his fingers between your folds in measured strokes while your cries drove him to the brink of madness. He found the little nub that gave women such pleasure, proud of himself for remembering correctly. When he rubbed a finger against it….

Your back arched. He had to quickly stabilize you with his other hand to keep you from sprawling back on the bed.

“So sensitive.” He murmured.

And then he continued, his member throbbing in time to your cries.

Your little hands gripped at his wrist, not attempting to push him away, but clinging for support as he pleasured you. 

“N-Nev’ran!”

Throne, say it again.

“I know, my love.”

“I feel, I feel-!”

“Let it come. I have you.”

You sobbed, your nectar soaking his fingers as you shook apart in his arms. And then you went limp.

He removed his hand and gathered you against him, feeling the wild fluttering of your pulse.

“Are you all right?”

It took you a minute to answer. “That was… it’s never felt like that before, when I used my own-” you stopped, eyes darting away.

He chuckled and pressed his lips to your forehead. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, Diamond.”

He let you rest for a bit, cradling you close. His own body screamed for release. But he would endure.

“Would you like to-?”

“Yes!” 

***

You hadn’t thought anything could be better than what you’d already experienced.

“Nev’ran!”

A low grunt came from between your thighs. You’d been placed farther up the huge bed. Your husband stretched out on his stomach before you, head buried between your legs, tongue buried in your core.

“Oh, Throne! Nev’ran!”

You’d blanched when he first told you his intentions. Of course, you’d heard rumors growing up. Like any young girl you’d giggled with friends over stolen novels full of flowery language and ridiculous metaphors. But you’d never quite believed people actually did such things.

Your hips jumped as Nev’ran’s tongue pressed deeper, deeper than your own fingers had ever gone. The unexpected heat of the organ only added to your pleasure. That, and his fingers circling your bud in relentless circuits. 

The way he held you down with a single hand spanning the breadth of your waist, the way he devoured you like a beast, growling and snarling…!

And yet the fear did not return. You were prey and you were safe, at the same time.

Another press of his fingers and you felt the coil within wind even tighter. 

“Nev’ran, I’m-!”

It snapped.

When you returned to sensibility, your husband leaned over you, stroking your cheek.

“Are you all right? Was that too much?”

Your heart swelled at the concern on his scarred face. Instead of answering, you lifted yourself with all the strength you could muster and pressed your lips to his. He tasted of smoke and spices and something that had to be your own musk. 

“I love you, Nev.”

His great arms cradled you. “And I love you.”

You snuggled into his embrace. Your body felt molten and heavy. Liquid cooled between your thighs.  And yet….

“Nev?”

“Mmmm?”

“Shall we… continue?”

“You are certain?”

You felt a sudden burst of frustration. “Yes! I am! I want… I want everything, Nev’ran.”

He lowered you back onto the mattress. The look in his eyes almost burned you in its intensity.

“You know what will happen.”

You nodded, eyes travelling down to his swollen member. 

Dear Emperor, that has to hurt!

“It will… go inside.”

You didn’t know how. But other women, hundreds of women if Matia and the Chaplain were to be believed, had taken Salamanders before. So there must be a way.

He nodded, almost solemn. “I will use my fingers first, to prepare you. Then I will enter you. There may be pain-”

“I don’t care. I want it.”

“If it becomes too much, tell me, and I will stop.”

“It won’t. I-”

He grasped your chin, making you look him in the eyes. “If it becomes too much, TELL ME, and I will STOP.”

“I… I will.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear.”

Your core clenched in anticipation.

***

Nev’ran rose back up onto his knees and looked at the woman beneath him. Sweat streaked your skin. Your hair cascaded about your head in unruly tangles. Reddish marks covered your breasts and thighs. He winced at one hand-shaped bruise forming over your waist.

I must be more gentle.

Licking the last of your juices from his lips, he reached for the small stone table next to the bed. You hadn’t noticed the jar he’d brought along with the food earlier. Lifting it, he poured its viscous contents over his fingers.

His member throbbed when he spread your thighs once more, revealing your swollen, dripping center.

Just a little longer.

You whimpered when he stroked you. 

“Breathe, Diamond.” He murmured, before pressing a single finger inside.

Having his tongue inside you had been hard enough, but the tight, wet sensation of your core around his finger nearly undid him. He found himself having to take his own advice, expanding his third lung to drag as much oxygen into his body as possible. 

Your soft cries didn’t help matters.

I want to be inside her. I want to fill her until there is no room for anything else. I want to mold her body to my shape. My precious little mate.

His dragon clawed at his control.

A second finger. You gasped as he scissored them, working you open. Not quite enough yet. The image of you tearing as he took you quieted the beast within.

I will not allow it.

In and out he moved his fingers. A preview of what was to come. To his amazement, he felt your body tightening once more.

“Again, my love?”

Your frantic nodding brought a prideful smile to his lips.

He had done this. Centuries the elder of many of his battle brothers, and he still knew how to drive a woman half-mad with ecstasy. Faster and faster he moved his fingers, curling them within, searching for that spot he remembered. 

“Can you take another, my Diamond?”

“Please!”

“Throne.” He groaned and slipped third within.

You took him more easily now. He pushed deeper with each thrust.

Where is it? There!

A patch of spongy flesh. He pressed.

“Nev’ran!”

Liquid gushed around his fingers for the third time, your fragrance nearly overwhelming him. Panting like a beast in rut, he worked his fingers through your climax, finally withdrawing when you lay boneless before him.

And yet, when your eyes opened, he still saw desire. “Nev’ran, more.”

Forget orks or tyranids or any of the other horrors he was bred to fight, you would be the death of him. 

He poured more of the viscous liquid over his member. Slipping his hands beneath your knees, he lifted your legs until they pressed against your chest. You winced, and he allowed you time to adjust to the stretch.

“It must be like this, or on your hands and knees.” He growled. “Choose.”

“Like this.” You panted in reply. “I want to see you.”

“Relax your body as much as you are able, and breathe deep.”

He lined himself up with your entrance. Both hearts pounded like hammers on anvils in his chest.

Then he pushed in, his groan mingling with your cry as your body struggled to take him. 

“Tight. Throne, so tight.” Nev’ran fought to hold onto rational thought as he sank inside you, inch by inch. 

Slowly, Warp damn it! Slowly!

“Is this… all right?”

You didn’t respond. He glanced down to find you with your eyes tightly shut, teeth clenched as you breathed in short gasps.

“Diamond!”

He hadn’t meant it to come out so harsh. But his control frayed more with every passing moment. It had been too long.

Your eyes snapped open. “It… stings.”

“Too much?”

Do not tell me to stop. By the Emperor and all the primarchs, do not tell me to stop!

“No….” The word trailed off into a long moan.

His eyes fixed on the place of your joining. More and more you took, your entrance stretching around him. 

So good.

Had it felt this good before? He couldn’t remember. His mind filled with the tight, wet heat of the present. Nothing else mattered.

An eternity seemed to pass before he looked down and found himself fully seated inside you.

The dragon emerged. “Mine.”

***

You couldn’t describe the feeling. The stretch. The fullness. The heat.

Oh, Throne. The heat!

You burned from the inside out. Your brain sparked like a damaged cogitator.

“Nev’ran, Nev’ran, Nev’ran!”

You couldn’t tell if you merely thought the name or spoke it aloud. He was all. Everything around and in you. Only him.

And then he moved. In and out, like a piston. Your body screamed, in pain or pleasure you couldn’t tell. The two sensations melded. You wanted him to stop. You wanted him to never stop.

“Mine.”

Did he say that? Did you think it? It didn’t matter. You agreed.

“My mate.”

You wanted to say something, anything. But only screams and moans passed through your lips. You couldn’t catch your breath.

“Only mine.”

Finally, your brain formed one coherent thought. “Yes! Yours!”

A hand slid under the back of your head, yanking you upward. You had the briefest glimpse of wild red eyes before a mouth slammed into yours. You clutched at the short-cropped hair, digging your nails into the scalp.

All the while the piston within you never faltered.

When you grew faint from lack of air, the mouth moved to your throat. Teeth sank into your skin. You felt claimed. You wanted to claim in return.

A memory flickered and you raked your nails down the impossibly broad chest, searching, searching for….

There!

Fingers sank into neural ports and the dragon roared.

The piston sped up. Whatever coherent thought you’d managed to gather splintered into a million fragments. All you could do was cling to your mate and feel and feel and feel. 

The volcano within erupted without warning.

You saw white. You heard the snarling of a feral beast. You felt molten fire pulse into your womb.

Then, everything went dark.

***

You stumbled into the Apothecarion, gasping for breath. “I’m here, Nev’ran! I’m sorry for being late. I was helping Lili and Matia with the children and I-”

Your words halted with a gasp.

The medical center of the Flamewrought, usually so austere, now gleamed with the light of a hundred candles. The surgical tables had all been pushed to one side to make room for a low circle of cushions surrounding-

“Where on Terra did you find flowers?!”

Nev’ran stood to one side of the cushions. He was unarmored, dressed in a simple green tunic. In one hand he held a bottle of wine. In the other, two glasses. They looked comically small in his hands.

His smile almost looked nervous. “Do you like them?”

You approached the bouquet of pale blooms, reaching out to stroke the petals. “It’s been so long.”

“One of my Brother Techmarines’ wives has a small garden on one of the lower decks. It is something of a marvel actually, she uses heat lamps and water condensers-” He seemed to realize he was rambling and cut himself off. “Anyway, she graciously gifted me a few.”

“A techmarine with a wife who likes flowers.” You laughed. “That sounds like an interesting pair.”

“That they are.” Popping the cork on the wine bottle, he filled a glass and offered it to you.

You accepted with a grin. “And where, might I ask, did you acquire this?”

He chuckled. “Apparently there was a particularly grateful planetary governor a few years back who offered almost his entire wine cellar to the Company. The Captain accepted a few bottles just to stop him groveling.”

You raised the liquid to your lips and your eyes widened. “I can’t say I’m an expert, but this is delightful.”

Nev’ran motioned for you to recline on the cushions. He settled next to you with a groan. 

“How I will get up again, I do not know.”

You rolled your eyes. “You are not that old, Nev.”

He humphed and you giggled. 

For a few minutes you simply drank together in silence, enjoying the way the candle light reflected off the white blossoms. Finally, Nev’ran cleared his throat. 

“I have made you something.”

You gasped when he produced a small, ornate box from the folds of his tunic. “Is this where you’ve been this last week? Nev’ran….”

He held it toward you, and you could have sworn you saw his hands tremble. “Please, open it.”

You did. And your heart all but stopped.

There, nestled amidst velvet padding, was a necklace. A single diamond the size of a bird’s egg nestled inside a net of silver mesh, the whole thing hanging from a chain of the same metal. 

“Oh…!”

Nev’ran reached out and took your hand. “Among the Salamanders, it is customary for a man to craft a gift for the woman he… that he wishes to marry.”

You couldn’t breathe.

He continued. “I love you, Diamond. From the moment I saw you, I knew I was destined to keep you warm and safe. I have done battle for you, and I would do so a thousand times without hesitation. I cannot offer a life of ease, but I offer all that I am.”

You would never forget the look in his eyes when he asked. “Will you marry-?”

“YES!”

***

Nev’ran lifted the glass of water to your lips. “Easy now, slowly.”

He watched you gulp the liquid down, then gently lowered you back into the pillows he’d piled around you like a nest.

“How are you feeling?”

“Mmmm.” Your eyelids fluttered. “Tired.”

“Sore?”

You shook your head. “Prob’ly tomorrow, though.”

He winced. By the time he’d come back to his senses, you’d been unconscious, his seed pouring from your core. It had been the closest he’d come to panic in long years. But several glasses of water, a nutrient bar, and a change of clothes later, and you smiled at him like he hadn’t ravaged you like a rutting beast a mere hour earlier.

“You are sure you are-”

“Nev’ran,” you sighed, “I’m fine.” Your lips quirked upward even as your eyes closed. “That was wonderful.”

He felt a rush of pure male pride. “Was it now?”

“Mmm-hmm.” One eye opened. “Not bad for an old man.”

He stared at you for a moment before throwing his head back and laughing. “Diamond! You really will be the death of me!”

You reached for him, and he lowered himself to his side next to you, pulling you tight against his chest. “Sleep now, my love. We have a week to enjoy ourselves.”

And then it would be back to the Flamewrought, to battle. His duty still remained. 

Nev’ran looked down at the precious gift he’d been given in the form of this woman. At least, this time, he would not be alone. You mumbled something, and his hearts skipped a beat.

“What was that, my love?”

Your hand drifted to your stomach. “I hope it took.”

His eyes moistened. “I hope so too.”

“What do you want?”

“Hmm?”

“Son or daughter?”

He laughed, even as a single tear ran down his weathered cheek. “Healthy.”

“Good answer.” You snuggled closer. “Love you, Nev.”

He wrapped his arms around you. “I love you more than my own life, my precious Diamond.”

He watched you, memorizing ever feature, until your breathing deepened. “No matter what comes, I will keep you warm. Always.”

And the Dragon and his Mate rested.

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith @noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @vyzz-undercover

@missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade @iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock @hatsubara-8chan

@justanothermemestrider @meervalv0 @grimdark-raccoon @garlickedbreads @riokunova

@ailujsenutna @emiemiemiii @astrohymn @synfiction @soul-of-leya

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@sunsetlobster @nekotaetae @toto-the-cactus @thevoidscreams

[kingkruell]

PULSE MEMORY | CHOSO KAMO

SYNOPSIS - in the aftermath of the shibuya incident, a researcher finds herself sifting through the remnants of cursed bloodlines, her focus now fixed on the death paintings. under the watchful gaze of choso kamo, the last of his line, the weight of history presses against them both. as the layers of the past unfold, so too does something quieter, more fragile: a bond between two souls bound by secrets— a bond created between the crevices of the mundanity that blurs into something soft, slow, and inevitable.

CONTENT- researcher!reader x post-shibuya arc! choso, post-shibuya au, canon divergent au, very slight angst, insecure choso, found family-type, intimacy, mutual pining, friends to lover, lingering trauma, hurt/comfort, soft choso, awkward choso in love, major fluff.

WORD COUNT 5335

[read in dark mode]

now playing: risk-deftones, i'm not in love-10cc

LATE DECEMBER

cursed energy lingers like mildew.

that’s one of the first things you learned as a junior field researcher working under the tokyo jujutsu tech archives division.

not a sorcerer, not even a grade 4 semi-trained assistant;  just one of the “non-combat staff,” as they put it. the ones who combed through bloodstained scrolls and transcribed fragmented oral histories from battered curse victims. you studied patterns. names. and the way those names persisted.

your current assignment isn’t just an anomaly, it’s practically sacrilege.

you're assigned to the death painting wombs.

or what’s left of them.

after the shibuya Incident, what began as basic post-conflict documentation turned into a high-level classified program under a new special division, one that suspected the death paintings were more than just failed cursed womb experiments.

you were the youngest non-sorcerer granted access.

and choso kamo, the only one left alive, was placed at your side.

 “he won’t talk much.”

that’s what ijichi told you, escorting you through the ruins of the old auxiliary training center. It was converted into a temporary lab space, walls still warped from residual cursed energy. the makeshift archive/research room isn’t built for comfort. the air is cold, stale, and smells faintly of old blood. shelves lean with age. cursed scrolls line the walls in crooked rows. each one hums with a faint, leftover energy — like a breath held too long.

you walked in expecting a monster

you found him instead — choso.

the request actually came from yuuji’s end: someone to assist with lingering questions about the death painting wombs. your job, as far as anyone can explain, is to help verify claims that a fourth womb — never accounted for — may have existed. you’re not even sure you believe it yourself.

arms crossed. eyes dull like old ash.

he didn’t look at you when you introduced yourself. didn’t move when you explained your research: tracing the cursed bloodlines used in the death paintings to determine the origin of their hybrid nature.

you’d expected hostility. Instead, you got apathy, and you don’t know if that is any better. 

“there might be a fourth womb,” you said after the deafening silence, voice barely louder than a whisper, “unrecorded. or sealed. somewhere they didn’t want anyone to find.”

cursed wombs aren’t born.

they’re built.

that’s what your research implied. a jarring contradiction to what most jujutsu records claimed: that the death paintings were failed organic hybrids of human and cursed spirit cells. you dug deeper.

noritoshi kamo had created the first three wombs using the blood of women impregnated by curse energy-infused embryos. a violation in every sense. but what you had found in the sealed texts was stranger.

there were four original subjects.

one disappeared from the records mid-process. redacted. scratched out in black ink, even in the most secret archives.

at that, his eyes flickered, just for a heartbeat,and he shifted his weight. “i’d know,” he said, voice flat and low.

you tilted your head, brushing back a strand of hair. “maybe not,” you replied, offering a small, sympathetic smile. “they didn’t want you to.”

for a moment, he seemed about to retreat into silence again. instead, he uncrossed his arms, hands opening at his sides. “i have fragments,” he murmured, gaze drifting upward as if recalling a distant memory. “dreams that aren’t mine. faces i can’t place.”

you leaned against a battered table, chest hollow with curiosity. the flicker of lamplight traced the curve of your cheek. “that’s why i think you’re resonating with something,” you said gently, tapping your pen against your notebook. he blinked slowly. “resonating?”

you nodded, warmth creeping into your tone as you explained. “in cursed memory theory, when an object or being is near a fragment of its origin, the memory responds—like a tuning fork.”

his lips parted, as though he wanted to argue, but the pause stretched into silence. finally, you asked, doubt threading your words, “and you think if we find the fourth, I’ll remember?”

his shoulders loosened fractionally. he met your eyes, and for once, there was something in them beyond ash. “no,” you added softly, letting the words settle between you, “i think you’ll feel.”

BLOODLINES, TEA STAINS, SOFTNESS

he doesn’t talk much, not at first. you spend your days parsing through old scrolls, obscure court records, kamo family history — most of it half-burned or politically redacted. he stands nearby, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. You’re not sure if he’s observing you or guarding you.

then it becomes a routine.

you spend your days bent over ink-faded scrolls, tracing the jagged lines of kamo genealogy with a trembling fingertip. he stands just behind you—silent sentinel—arms folded, every muscle coiled like a spring. when a passage trips you up, you clear your throat and read it aloud, voice echoing against the chipped concrete. sometimes he hums under his breath, the note low and uncertain, as if testing how sound lingers here. other times he simply watches, eyes softening ever so slightly at the curve of your concentration.

one evening, the lamplight blinks out mid-sentence. your eyelids flutter shut before you can register the darkness. when you wake, your cheek is glued to the spine of a cursed register, and the room’s edges glow faintly in the after-hours lights. a paper cup blooms warm against your elbow.

“you were drooling on the 19th-century register,” choso says, voice hushed like he’s reluctant to break a spell.

you sit up with a soft groan, brushing crumbs of parchment from your sleeve. he’s cross-legged on the floor across the table. candlelight flickers across his face, revealing the barest lift at one corner of his mouth.

“you stayed?” you manage, voice thick with sleep and something like relief.

he shrugs, eyes shifting to the steaming cup. “didn’t want you to freeze.”

you tuck the scarf around your shoulders, careful not to disturb its pristine folds.

is this his scarf?

a gentle warmth settles in your chest, part gratitude, part something you don’t understand yet.

in daylight, you begin to fill that space with small curiosities. one afternoon, you twist in your seat and ask, “do you like sweet tea, or should i steep it longer next time?” your lips curve in a hopeful smile.

he glances at the scribbled teacup chart you taped to the wall—your makeshift flavor guide—and presses his lips together before answering. “sweet. just enough.”

you mark it down with a flourish, humming in approval.

another morning, you find him folding parchment scraps into neat piles. you lean over his shoulder, brushing a loose strand of hair from his braid. “what do you do when you’re not… here?”

his breath catches, as if surprised by the ease of the question. he pauses, fingers stilling on a corner of brittle paper. “train,” he says quietly. “or—” he hesitates, then adds, “think.”

you chuckled in amusement, , eyes bright. “thinking can be hard. sometimes it helps to talk it out.”

he doesn’t meet your gaze. you keep talking anyway, describing the way the sun falls across your favorite reading spot, the taste of your grandmother’s rice crackers. eventually, he looks at you again, each syllable of your stories turning the angles of his face a little gentler.

and then one afternoon, you offer him one of those rice crackers — golden studded with sesame seeds, cupped in your palm like an offering. he studies the simple snack, brows knitting, before lifting it to his lips and tasting. his shoulders loosen as he crunches softly, and a spark, uncertain but genuine, flickers in his dark eyes.

in that moment, the room feels smaller, warmer.

THE MOUTH OF FEAR

you don’t rush the research. you take your time. you go through the files together. on the nights it gets too heavy, choso makes tea without being asked. you cook plain meals and leave half out for him, knowing he probably won’t eat until hours later.

choso, on the other hand, is terrified, paranoid.

choso doesn’t sleep much. when he does, it’s never for long. he dreams of blood, mostly. the kind he understands: spilled, dried, humming with the memory of violence. it coats his hands, his mouth, his lungs. sometimes he wakes up choking on it, the taste of copper on his tongue. but lately, something’s changed.

the dreams are shifting. still fragmented, still dreamlike, but warmer. quieter. a thread of gentleness instilled through the carnage. there would be images of hands that cradle rather than crush. voices not screaming, not commanding, just… saying his name like it means something.

and always, he wakes feeling worse.

“i think your discomfort near certain artifacts isn’t coincidence, but resonance.” it was in the middle of the afternoon, another day in the research room.

he stares at you, pulse flattening under his skin like a drum caught in mid-beat.

“you think my body remembers things i don’t?”

you look at him then. steady. not like you’re trying to solve him, but like you already have a few pieces of the puzzle, and you're simply being patient with the rest.

“i think your soul does,” you say, voice careful but clear.

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t let it show that the word hits like a curse.

he wants to laugh. wants to sneer. wants to disappear into the walls. but you’re still watching him, not flinching, not mocking.

soul. like he has one. like what’s left of him could be more than muscle and memory stitched together by blood and rage.

he crosses his arms, not out of defiance, but defense.

“you think i’m incomplete.”

it’s an accusation and he means for it to push you away.

but you don’t retreat. you soften.

“no,” you say, and it’s gentle in a way that guts him. “i think you were never given the full story.”

he looks at you, really looks — and for the first time, choso feels seen.

not as a cursed object. not as an echo of noritoshi kamo’s violence. but as a being caught between memory and blood.

and it terrifies him.

you terrify him

he tries not to watch. fails.

he tries not to listen. fails again.

he tells himself he’s just observing — staying alert. just in case.

but that’s not the truth. not even close.

the truth is: something about you terrifies him.

not because you're dangerous. but because you aren’t.

because you look at him like he’s more than a weapon. like he’s a question you want to understand. like he’s not beyond saving.

then, he starts walking you home.

it’s not official or discussed. it just begins one night after the cursed spirit incident; when it cornered you near the station, and you froze, and he stepped in like it was instinct. because it was. and ever since, something in him refuses to let you go alone.

you’d tried to laugh it off at the time, said it wasn’t a big deal, that you had it under control. you’d said it with your head tilted up like you believed it, but your hands had told a different story. shaking, tucked into your sleeves. he noticed. he notices everything.

he couldn’t sleep that night. not because he was afraid of more spirits or some unseen threat. no, what kept him awake was how his hands had trembled, not out of fear for his own life, but because something had snarled in your direction and he hadn’t been fast enough.

he didn’t know what that feeling was. not then. but it unsettled him more than anything else had.

so now, he walks beside you.

you argue the first few times, lightly, like it’s routine. “you really don’t have to do this,” you say with a little wave of your hand. “i’m not made of glass.”

“you’re not a fighter,” he replies, blunt as ever.

“you’re not a babysitter.”

the third time, you roll your eyes and say, “this is overkill, you know.”

the fifth time, you mutter, “you’re going to get bored of this.”

the seventh time, you sigh and say, “you could be doing anything else.”

you expect that to make him leave.

it doesn’t. he shrugs, barely looking at you, and says nothing more. but the next night, he’s there again, waiting at the same spot near the back exit of the research room. he’s always there now.

you get used to it faster than you expect. you even start adjusting your pace so he doesn’t have to slow down as much. sometimes you fill the silence with odd facts you picked up during the day. sometimes it’s a story about a cursed object someone mishandled or an old scroll that smelled like vinegar and regret. and sometimes… you don’t talk at all. just walk together, your steps syncing without effort.

he listens more than he speaks, but when he does speak, it’s real. not empty filler. when he hums in agreement, it’s because he’s thought about what you said. when he corrects you on an old name or a bloodline detail, he does it gently, never to embarrass, just to help.

he’s never been good with softness. not with receiving it, and definitely not with giving it. but it’s different with you. slower. quieter. and it scares the hell out of him.

tonight, it’s colder than usual. you blow into your hands and mutter something under your breath about forgetting your gloves again. he hesitates, wants to offer you his, but doesn’t. not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s not sure what it would mean if you accepted.

you walk slower than normal, and he matches your pace without thinking. when you reach your apartment building, you dig through your bag for your keys, muttering about how you always lose them at the bottom. he waits beside you, silent.

and then, without looking at him, you say it—like it’s nothing. like it doesn’t land sharp between his ribs.

“you don’t have to walk me every time, you know.”

he doesn’t hesitate.

“i know,” he says. “but i want to.” he looks away, blushing.

you go still. fingers frozen on your keyring. you don’t look at him, but your breath catches just slightly, and he catches it. he always does. you unlock the door, but you don’t go in right away. your hand lingers on the knob. just for a second. maybe two.

he says nothing. he doesn’t ask for more. but when the door finally swings shut behind you, he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

then he turns around and walks back into the dark. his hands are shoved deep into his coat pockets, shoulders hunched slightly forward, like he’s bracing against the cold—but it’s not the cold that unsettles him. it’s not fear the way he used to know it. not the kind that comes from danger or death or memory.

no, this fear is quieter. it waits behind his ribs and curls around the edges of his thoughts.

it’s not the fear of being haunted anymore.

now, it’s the fear of wanting to stay.

CHANGES AND THE SHAPE OF QUIET THINGS

they've shut down the fucking research.

all that time and energy was for nothing, wasn't it?

when they shut down your research, you weren’t surprised. not really. you'd been waiting for the day someone told you to stop digging.

they didn’t even try to hide behind bureaucratic pretense. not fully. the committee’s statement had been thinly veiled, draped in language like “too dangerous” and “ethically irresponsible.” some claimed it disrespected the dead. others said your work “blurred the line between reverence and obsession.”

but you weren’t naive. you knew exactly what this was.

it was political.

it wasn’t the theory itself that scared them. not the part about residual memory or cursed bloodlines. no, it was what your findings implied. the idea that choso and his brothers were not aberrations, not tragic footnotes, but the intended outcome of something far uglier. something deliberate.

they didn’t want to rewrite history. didn’t want the sorcerer world questioning what it meant to be “man-made.”

you were supposed to pack it all up. leave quietly. pretend it had been an academic misstep. write something more palatable next time. something soft and unthreatening.

instead, you found yourself standing in front of choso in the archives, holding out a worn, overstuffed folder.

“i have nowhere else to take this,” you said, voice low, hands steady. “but i think you do.”

he didn’t take it right away. just looked at the folder like it was burning in your hands. like it was both too heavy and too familiar. his eyes were hard to read — they always were. not because he was cold, but because he had learned to keep his grief folded inside, like a letter he didn’t dare open. but you’d been around him long enough to know the silence wasn’t disinterest. it was consideration.

finally, he said, “you’re coming with me.”

you blinked. “sorry?”

he looked up then, brows drawn. not annoyed, just confused, like he couldn’t understand why that needed clarification.

“you know too much,” he said. “they’ll come for you. you’ll need someone to protect you.”

you opened your mouth to argue, to tell him you could handle yourself, that you’d lived among cursed records and forgotten truths for years without needing a bodyguard. but the words didn’t come. because the truth was, you hadn’t felt scared until now.

on that night, you packed what you could into a duffel bag and followed him.

he didn’t rush you. just stood by the door, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, eyes somewhere distant. not impatient — just alert. like he couldn’t let himself settle until you were out of that building, and out of their reach.

the apartment he brought you to was in the outer edges of shinjuku — the kind of place no one paid attention to. third floor walk-up. rusty balcony. cursed energy traces so low you had to actively search for them. the front lock stuck if you didn’t jiggle it just right. the water pressure was terrible.

choso didn’t say much as you unpacked. he stood near the door like he’d only just arrived too, arms folded, eyes scanning the walls like they might shift. like he was still waiting for something — someone — to come crashing through. even in stillness, his body braced for violence. you didn’t mind the silence. you filled it carefully, humming under your breath as you shelved your books, folding clothes into corners, trying not to disturb the odd peace that hovered between you.

your mind is going insane. you don't know how you had agreed to this living situation; to a guy you know you are weak to. you're used to being calculated, never taking chances impulsively. but with him, it feels like everything will be alright. it's because of him.

just like you, he wasn’t used to sharing space. but somehow, it worked..

choso didn’t crowd. didn’t hover. didn’t ask why you sometimes left notes in the margins of your own research like you were talking to yourself. he just started sitting at the edge of the table while you worked, arms draped over the back of the chair, watching the way your brow furrowed when you were deep in thought.

sometimes he’d pick up a page and study it in silence. his fingers were gentle with the paper, as if it might bruise.

“what does this part mean?” he’d ask, voice low, thumb resting on a line like it mattered.

you explained patiently, even when you were tired. even when the words felt too big or too broken. he listened like listening was a form of worship. like your theories were scripture and he was trying to relearn the world through them.

you started noticing the little things.

the way he always washed his cup after using it, even if it was just water. the way he swept the balcony without being asked, even though no one could see it. the way he never slammed a door. like loudness made him ache.

and slowly — clumsily — he started trying.

one morning, there was a piece of fruit on the counter you hadn’t bought. another night, a pair of slippers had appeared beside yours. he never mentioned them. just looked away, a little too fast, when your gaze lingered.

one evening, as you sat hunched over your notes, your head aching, he returned from a grocery run and set down a small, beat-up box in front of you. inside: a cheap heat pack, a pack of those terrible-but-comforting convenience store cookies, and a bottle of green tea.

“you were frowning yesterday,” he said, like it explained everything. “i thought maybe this would help.”

it was stiff. awkward. but...painfully sincere.

you just looked up at him and smiled — soft and slow.

“thank you,” you said.

he blinked. then nodded. once. briskly. like he wasn’t used to the words being for him.

after that, he got bolder. in his own way.

a hand resting on your back for a second too long when he moved past you in the kitchen. a folded towel left on your desk after you spilled tea on yourself. once, when you fell asleep on the couch with your notes still in your lap, you woke up tucked under a blanket that wasn’t yours.

he pretended not to notice when you smiled at him the next morning.

you didn’t push. didn’t name it. love, for people like you and choso, had never come loud. it arrived in pauses, in half-gestures, in the space between breath and language.

and choso — for all his quiet, all his grief — began to soften.

not all at once.

but slowly, gently.

like winter learning how to become spring.

he said goodnight once. whispered it when he thought you were already asleep. the word caught in the air like it had startled even him.

you heard it. didn’t move. but the next morning, you left him half a mug of coffee, black, just the way he drank it.

he didn’t say anything. just drank it quietly. and stayed close the rest of the day.

you stopped keeping your research in piles. started keeping it in a single binder marked with both your names. he noticed. didn’t say anything. but you found him flipping through it that night with the softest expression on his face, something like reverence, something like fear.

the apartment was still falling apart. the ceiling still leaked when it rained. the wind still howled through the thin walls like a curse waiting to return.

but when you looked over at choso, shoulders finally unbowed, eyes soft with something he hadn’t named — it didn’t feel haunted anymore.

it felt like home.

spring has came, but still, the nights felt almost as cold as winter.

you’d been living there for weeks now. maybe months. it was hard to tell. time moved differently when survival wasn’t the first priority.

choso had softened in increments. it didn’t come easy, not when he was built from grief and blood and the weight of too many memories that weren’t entirely his. but he tried. in his own way.

he brought home groceries when you forgot. set your favorite mug on the table when you looked tired. asked if you’d eaten, but only when you weren’t looking at him. and sometimes in the rare, quiet moments, he’d sit across from you at the table and just… be there. in the same room. breathing the same silence.

you, on the other hand, had grown louder. not obnoxiously so but lighter, easier with your words. you joked more. nudged his shoulder with yours when he was being too serious. sometimes you sang under your breath when you were cooking, just to see if he’d react.

he never did. not really.

tonight, the draft through the cracked bathroom window had gotten worse, and the space heater choso kept in the corner of the main room clicked uselessly when you tried to turn it on. the landlord didn’t respond to messages. not that either of you had expected him to.

still, the apartment had taken on a strange kind of warmth, not from anything mechanical, but from the rhythm of two people learning how to be around each other without armor. your socks drying by the heater. his jacket hanging by the door. mugs left out on the counter in pairs, not one.

the living room had become a shared space, half cluttered with your research, half overtaken by whatever scraps of domesticity you both allowed yourselves to claim. choso never said it, but you’d caught him fixing a broken table leg once, muttering under his breath. he still refused to take the bed. insisted the couch was “fine,” even though he barely fit on it.

you didn’t argue anymore. not with words, at least.

and still — still — it ached. the feeling you’d been carrying. this soft, constant wanting. the kind that didn’t ask for permission. you’d grown used to the sight of him, tired and thoughtful and quietly kind, but never enough. he’d brush past you to reach a book, and your breath would hitch. he’d glance at you during breakfast like he wanted to say something, and your chest would tighten.

you loved him. you knew that now. and you weren’t sure when it had happened — only that it had rooted itself in you like a quiet, stubborn bloom.

tonight, the power flickered once, then died entirely.

you lit a few candles and found the emergency blanket. choso was sitting by the window, arms folded, staring out into the dark city. the glow hit the side of his face in soft orange, and for a second, he didn’t look like a weapon. he looked like something quieter. something tired and beautiful.

“no update from the grid,” you said, settling down beside him on the floor. “could be out for hours.”

he grunted in response.

you sat in silence for a moment. the kind that wasn’t awkward, just heavy. full of all the things neither of you had said.

then, after a pause — “come here,” he murmured.

you blinked. “what?”

he didn’t look at you. “you’re freezing.”

you hesitated. then crawled under the blanket he’d opened, tucking yourself beside him. your knees touched. then your thigh. you felt his breath falter the second your shoulder pressed to his.

you didn’t move away. neither did he.

you turned to look at him, your face too close. his eyes flicked to your mouth for the briefest second — so quick you almost missed it.

“you’re shivering,” he murmured.

“no shit,” you replied, but it came out softer than you meant it to.

and maybe that was it. maybe the softness was what broke something open. because the next second, his hand rose, tentative, slow and brushed your cheek.

his fingers were cold. and you leaned into them anyway.

“you don’t have to—” he started.

“i want to,” you said.

the look he gave you then made your stomach twist. like he’d been holding his breath since the first night you showed up with a duffel bag and tired eyes. like he was scared touching you might undo him completely.

you kissed him first.

it was clumsy. a little too fast. his nose bumped yours, and your teeth clicked, and you laughed against his mouth because of course he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

but then he kissed you back and everything slowed.

his touch was reverent. unsure. like you were something he’d found, not something he could keep. he held you like a question he didn’t know how to ask.

but you answered it anyway.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulled him in again, and felt the way he exhaled like he’d been waiting years for this.when you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. quiet. breath warm against your skin.

“you’re still shivering,” he said.

you smiled. “then maybe we should get even closer.”

his ears turned red.

choso sat stiffly beside you, arms still tight around himself like he didn’t quite believe what had happened. like he was worried you’d disappear if he looked at you too long.

“you okay?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

he nodded once. then again, like he had to convince himself. “yeah. just… thinking.”

you let the silence stretch.

he was always like this, heavy with thought, cautious with words. you’d learned to read the quiet between his sentences. to wait. so you did.

he shifted a little, turning toward you, eyes flicking to your face and then away again. he was blushing, you could see it even in the dim light, the faint red creeping over his cheekbones like warmth he didn’t know how to hold.

“i’m not good at this,” he said suddenly. “this—” he gestured vaguely between you. “being close to people.”

you smiled gently. “you’re doing fine.”

he huffed. a little sharp. but not annoyed ,embarrassed. “you say that, but you’re… easy to be around. and i’m—”

“a little weird,” you teased.

he blinked. then, to your surprise, he laughed. soft and low, the sound curling in your chest like a match catching flame.

“yeah,” he admitted. “a little weird.”

you nudged his shoulder. “i like weird.”

his smile faltered, just a little. and when he looked at you again, something unguarded flickered across his face.

“when you first moved in, i thought it’d be temporary,” he said. “that they’d come after you. that i’d have to protect you, then… send you somewhere safer.”

your heart clenched. “and now?”

he hesitated. swallowed hard. “now i don’t want you to leave.”

the words landed with a kind of softness you hadn’t expected. just honest.

he ran a hand through his hair; nervous, a little twitchy. “you make the apartment feel different. lighter. like… i don’t know. like it’s not just a hiding place anymore.”

you felt your chest tighten.

“you make me feel different,” he added, quieter now. “less like a curse. more like—someone.”

your fingers reached for his without thinking. he didn’t pull away. just stared, wide-eyed, as your hand slid into his.

“you are someone, choso,” you said. “you always were.”

he looked down at your joined hands. blinked slowly.

then, clumsily, awkwardly, he said, “i think i like you. i mean, i know i like you. but it’s not just that. i think about you a lot. not in a weird way. okay, sometimes in a weird way. but not bad-weird. good-weird. like… i want to make you tea before you wake up, kind of weird.”

you snorted. actually snorted.

he groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “fuck. that was so bad.”

“no,” you said, laughing now. “that was...adorable. you want to make me tea before i wake up?”

“not anymore,” he grumbled into his palms. “now i want to evaporate.”

you leaned into him, rested your head on his shoulder.

he froze.

but only for a second.

then slowly, carefully — he tilted his head until it rested against yours. not perfect. a little stiff. but real.

“i like you too,” you said softly. “even when you talk about tea like it’s a grand confession.”

he let out a shaky breath. “it kind of was.”

you smiled into his shirt. “i know.”

outside, the wind howled down the narrow alley. the broken heater clicked once and gave up again.

but inside, everything felt warm. maybe not from the blanket. maybe not from the tea he swore he’d never make now. but from him. from the way his pinky hooked around yours. from the way he pressed the tiniest kiss into your hair like it took everything in him to do it.

and from the quiet that followed: not awkward, not tense.

just full.

like a silence you could live inside.

and maybe you would.

[purinbunnii]

Bound by Blood, Ignited by Desire

Ruin Me or Let Me Go

They tried to annul the marriage.

The clan called you into the ceremonial hall, robes and ritual, stoic elders flanked by servants trained not to meet your eyes.

Naoya stood there. Proud. Polished. Smirking.

He didn’t say you slept with him. He didn’t have to.

He just asked if your womb had been “compromised.”

Asked if your loyalty to your husband was still intact.

Toji wasn’t even summoned.

They didn’t consider him important enough to speak to.

“You were a gift,” one of the elders said. “You can be given again.”

You didn’t scream.

You didn’t cry.

But your cursed energy cracked the tiles beneath your feet.

————

Toji wasn’t in your shared room.

He was standing outside the compound wall, half-drenched in sweat and rain, a lit cigarette dying between his fingers, expression unreadable.

You stepped into his space, and he didn’t look at you. Just said:

“I heard.”

Silence.

“They’re going to offer you to Naoya.”

More silence.

“Say no and they’ll turn on you.”

Still, silence.

You swallowed, your voice breaking. “What do you want me to do?”

Toji laughed—hollow. Cold. Cracked.

“I never wanted you,” he said. “You were a fucking assignment. A mess they dumped on me like a leash I never asked for.”

You didn’t flinch. You just nodded, like your heart wasn’t bleeding out right there in the mud.

He looked at you for the first time. And you knew—he was lying.

He wanted you.

But not if it meant feeling anything real.

So you left.

And came back hours later, dripping wet and burning.

He was shirtless, leaning on his knees, towel draped around his neck.

You stood in the doorway, hair matted, chest heaving.

“I said go,” he rasped.

“I’m not leaving.”

Toji’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not staying either.”

You crossed the room. Pulled the towel off his neck. Straddled him where he sat—hard and fast, knees spread wide on either side of his thighs.

His hands gripped your waist on instinct.

“Don’t,” he warned, voice low.

“Then let go,” you said. “Right now.”

He didn’t.

So you tore open your robe, grabbed his cock, and slid down on him in one brutal motion.

You both groaned.

“Fuck—” he hissed, eyes wild, head tipped back. “What the hell are you—”

“Ruin me,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Or let me go.”

Your hips moved—slow and needy—every thrust deep, every grind painfully raw.

His hands trembled on your skin.

“I’ll leave,” you said, tears already gathering in your throat. “If you tell me you don’t want this. I’ll walk out right now. I’ll marry him. I’ll give him a son. I’ll forget your name.”

Toji’s entire body went still.

Your pace didn’t. You rode him like you wanted it to hurt. Like you wanted him to stop lying.

“You want me gone?” you gasped, hand fisting in his hair. “Tell me.”

He didn’t.

You ground your hips down and clenched around him.

“Say it!”

He snapped.

Grabbed your hips, slammed up into you, fucking you hard and fast, your spine arching from the shock of it.

“You want the truth?” he growled, voice broken, eyes full of something sharp and real.

“I’d fucking kill him if he touched you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I want you full of me,” he snarled, biting your throat. “I want you limping. I want the whole clan to smell me on your skin.”

You moaned—loud, desperate.

“I want to fill you so deep they have to scrub my name off your womb.”

Your body locked, orgasm ripping through you so hard you sobbed.

Toji caught you—held you close—kept thrusting through it, whispering filth and broken truths into your neck.

“You’re not leaving.”

“You’re mine.”

“You fucking ruined me first.”

Then he came.

Hard.

Deep.

You felt it.

Felt his cock pulse inside you, his teeth sink into your shoulder, his arms shaking as he emptied everything into you.

When it was over, you collapsed onto his chest, crying into his neck.

He didn’t move.

Just held you.

Then whispered—almost too soft to hear—

“I don’t want to let you go.”

7

[gulnarsultan]

I lOVED your yandere Uhtred and was wondering if you could write something about reader being unwilling (doesn't love him back) but is pregnant (like 7 months) and married to him and tried to escape

Hello dear. I'm so glad you liked it. I hope you like this one too.

Yandere Uhtred Ragnarsson and the runaway pregnant wife reader.

Most likely Uhtred saw you during a raid and kidnapped you. Or you were given to Uhtred so that there would be no war. Uhtred tries to be as good as he can to you. When he has to go to war, he assigns at least five warriors around you to protect you and prevent you from running away. He brings you a lot of loot. You try to escape but you always fail. One night, you were both drunk and angry. The next morning, you wake up naked and hugging Uhtred in bed. You jump out of bed immediately and run to the bathroom. You try to forget what happened and act like it never happened. However, weeks later, you start to experience symptoms such as vomiting and dizziness. Moreover, your period never came this month. The midwife confirms your fears. You are carrying Uhtred's baby in your womb. The first three months of pregnancy are full of fear, anxiety, vomiting and dizziness. The second trimester is easier. You love your little baby under your heart and you can't wait to meet your baby. When he reaches his seventh month, you get a chance to escape. After running away for a while, Uhtred finds you. Uhtred's anger makes your blood run cold.

"What were you thinking? What if you fell into the hands of bad people. What if you got hurt because of wild animals or because you were in the wild. Don't you care about the baby in your belly?"

You were already in tears as Uhtred shouted.

"I love my baby and I care about my baby."

"Is that why you put both yourself and the baby in danger by running away?"

You started to sob. Every breath you took felt like it was burning your lungs.

"When the baby is born, you can go wherever you want. The baby will stay with me."

"No. Please. Don't take the baby from me."

"If you keep acting like this, I'll have to take the baby from you."

The drive home was spent in silence. You were worried for the next few days. What would you do if Uhtred took the baby from you as he said? You had gotten so used to this little one. You prayed that Uhtred's anger would subside until the birth.

[crimsonbastard]

It's 2025 and people still think that Snape was the worst? Well fuck me.

"Snape was a total horrific monster:"

Alright let's analyse the "horrific" things that Snape did:

- Assign Normal Detentions to Students, like reshelfing old student records or cleaning potion utensils? Or suspending students when they go out of line (you know when they use an untested spell to slice open another student's chest) You know? Normal detention stuff, unlike forbidding a student from entering the safety of the common when there's a supposed mass murderer on the loose or forgetting to drink a potion that will prevent you from turning into a rampaging monster every full moon and endangering children.

- The other list of horrific things that Snape did was giving detention to a student who melted 6 FUCKING CAULDRONS, 6 CAULDRONS, because Neville sucked so hard that he became a hazard to everyone else around him. And you know what was the detention? Cutting up Potion Ingredients.

- Of course we cannot forget about the Toad. Poor Trevor, one of the many pets that is routinely subjected to magic as it's part of a students school work. To practice spells and potions on them UNDER SUPERVISION with contingencies in place.

- Poor Neville's parents were tortured by Bellatrix, but his greatest fear was Snape!

Firstly, Neville was a fucking infant when that happened, he barely had any memory of it and he only knew about it through others, secondly, by that logic, Hermione should be fucking afraid of the Basilisk considering she got put into a state of living death, but no, it's McGonagall failing her. The golden trio went through several near death experiences and yet most of them still have fears that are nothing related to it, (minus Harry) Ron is still afraid of Spiders despite nearly losing his life in the life sized wizard chess, or almost grtting crushed by the womping willow, it's to show how Harry's fear is far more "mature" compared to others.

- "Draco and Dudley had semi redemption arcs"

I wish I could claw through the screen and retch my guts out into that commentors throat because of how rancid that take is.

-Movie Draco ≠ Book Draco, sure Draco had some sliver of sympathetic moments, but he did not "redeem" himself in any way. He just got up, and left the war altogether with his family, It took Dudley to nearly getting his soul sucked out to finally warm up to Harry.

Sure the latter can be given the benefit of the doubt. But you know who risked his life for nearly a decade by spying on Voldemort? Who risked his life to save Harry and by extension the Wizarding world? It surely wasn't Regulus Chalamet Black. It was SEVERUS SNAPE.

- "Joined a Wizarding Death Cult, and spent his Adulthood bullying children"

- Joined a Wizarding death cult because? Let's hear it, because he was bullied so much, that to by the supposed champions of the "light" side that he thought the only place he could find some semblance of control over his life was the said cult. One of the commenter mentioned how Draco and Dudley's bullying can be explained because they were indoctrinated into it, but of course let's not give Snape the benefit of the doubt because he was born evil, the very first breath he took when he came out of Eileen's womb was filled with Malice. Hypocrisy be damned. Sure Jan, let's pretend that the Rich Kids got indoctrinated into doing questionable stuff but conveniently ignore the Impoverished, Isolated boy who was bullied by the more Priviledged and Well Off and sought camaraderie and protection from the only group of people who were "nice" to him and promised him power and fame.

- Sure Snape is a dick, but he didn't spend the rest of his adulthood trying to atone for his mistakes and fighting for the greater good with no personal stake for you to simply ignore that spew filth like this.

[ladythornofrivia]

Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Six)

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: modern!reader reborn as lady greenstar. it was no secret as aemond’s admiration grew.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings & disclaimer: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, size kink, obsession, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and Aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Pro-Green, Reader is a green supporter. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

a/n: this chapter is ONLY in Aemond’s pov. ooc aemond, but still is a cold-stone, charming prince we all love. Thank you for being patient with me; i took so long to write. I used a reference from Nanami’s line from JJK—he said “Being a child isn’t a sin.” And the trailer of HOTD S2 is 😍😭🔥❤️‍🔥👏

Chapter Six: The Rebirth of Lady Greenstar

~Aemond’s POV~

Aemond couldn’t stop gazing at you in your sleep, no matter how often he saw your chest rise and fall with soften breath drawing past through your lips—sinful lips, droning out soft noises, he recalls the day where he undressed you. Moles engraved on your lower lips and neck, and several others spotted on the collarbone. Some at the back. The shape on your smooth legs sprawled and tucked at turns you rotated whilst in dreamland—he recalled your skin marked in red outline of a dragon on your right thigh, and a green dragon on your whole backside.

Slender arms rested beneath your head despite the ivory pillows are there, all fluffed and cleansed with new ivory sheets, aglow under a yellow sun.

Quenched as he is, Alicent’s word stung; his hands and teeth clenched. “But the truest of your heart—your love must be hidden in secret,” she told him once.

He knew what she meant.

Studying the histories of the Targaryens—of those who had children out of wedlock for an escapism in horrid and loveless marriages assigned from previous kings are often ridiculed and reigned in contempt, in curse—bastards.

He hated bastards. Lucerys and Jacaerys are one—they claimed to be as Velaryons throughout—and on a night of Laena’s passing, Aemond, at the age of three-and-ten claimed Vhagar and lost his eye, that damned good-for-nothing bastard—a Targaryen pretender who was out of Rhaenyra’s womb, bathed and born with brown locks and pug-like nose and sneering features—Velaryons tend to have delicate and soft features, but still manly in their own way like Targaryens do, but not Strong. House Strong are rugged and filthy.

But—

With your case, as a newcomer, as an outsider, he knew you don’t belong in this world, considering how you tried to avert Aemond with diversion. You’re neither a royal nor a bastard. Though punishment can be given to anyone in the royal court or outside the Red Keep. Anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms. Though of course Dorne accepted bastards.

Aemond’s intrusive thoughts overcame. A battle of restrain lashed out, when the prince approached towards the lush your sleeping figure. Your breath steadied at the rise and fall on your hilled breasts; the torn and worn out nightwear severely took a toll on the guards yanking you as if you’re a fragile doll.

If one’s act of taste that considers as a sin, then it’s a sin I shall give.

His head leaned forward, face closing to yours, tip of his tongue tingled as his left hand clasped on your head, the other rested on your waist as his tall body brought down on the bedside atop of your sleeping form. He had memorized, and counted the moles—once, as he lay himself to sleep in his quarters on the night after he first saw you. There’s a theory that moles came from a past lovers planting a kiss on empty spots. Aemond could offer you more. His tongue slithered on the soft line of your neck, and brought back to pucker with balmy smack, leaving a small trace of string silava coated on your now bruised skin.

Squirming underneath him, Aemond satisfied, humming, his right hand snaked on your waist, then fondling your left breast, pinching the taut nipple as he devoured the scent on you as he hungrily kissed your jawline and slope on your neck.

Earning a moan from you, Aemond spurred, his fingertips roamed on your breast and lowered down to your thigh, kneading. Your face—your lips—directly aligned to his, drawing a quiet sigh.

Adrenaline rushed in his veins, his body grew hot, trousers compacted with his engorged cock. He couldn’t get enough of you. The taste of you, your beauty and your fiery heart. He envisioned of what your face would be like, your voice would sound like, if you’re awake during the pleasurable intercourse or under his tantalizing fingers and mouth.

Countless footsteps skittered across the hall nearby. And so, Prince Aemond sat on the chair with his legs crossed and his elbows resting on the armrest behind the wall, spying on the maidservants passing by the opened door without batting an eye, maids chatting as always.

A hushed sigh of relief drew from his lips. By then, he looked at you one last time, spotted a love bite on your neck, before ushering himself out to go at the hall and disappeared with his lips, licking—tasted and lingered upon more ravaging thoughts of you.

~~~

Into a wide-ranged room, roofs decorated like constellations and metal works of the orrery, and the broad balconies garbed in light and ruffled curtains swaying. The council planned to use this room to divert the newcomer and persuade her to join hands and swore oath.

They have hoped that a new change of environment will appease her. Aemond couldn’t blame her; the Council room is filled with discrimination and accusations, despite his interest on becoming a sovereign—unlike Aegon who he rather be a sovereign in between someone’s legs at the brothels upon the Streets of Silk.

Regardless of Alicent’s cautionary, both Green sons lurked and eavesdropped on the members, who are more frantic and belligerent in comparison to previous meeting.

“She’ll be here,” Aegon teased. “Ser Arryk is coming to fetch her. Poor girl lost her way in the Red Keep.”

Aemond folded his hands behind his back, abiding, cold and calculating, and twice as tall, passed from Aegon’s stature.

“How long will she last, I wonder? With all the skills, beauty and remarks she has gotten,” Aegon emphasized on the word “beauty” as sarcasm, “do you think she’ll survive, even after the council? This is no easy task, of course, residing in Red Keep. The Blacks are here again. And Daemon didn’t come here alone.” His head jerked, indicating towards Rhaenyra. “I don’t suppose you’re aware, but the poor girl might risk her life again. Shocking how the Blacks and Greens weren’t showing hostility despite our shared past.”

Aemond watched within the presence of the council—Blacks and Greens united—without bloodshed. A bizarre sight to behold.

The doors creaked, and entering (y/n), following Ser Arryk.

The Blacks and Greens gaze with watchful eyes, tension rose as (y/n) proceeded closer and sat down on a vacant chair nearby the entrance door but struggled; Ser Arryk assisted her and perched down as she thanked him, returning a similar unnerving gaze back, unyielding even when appearing fragile. Her posture eased; she glimpsed at the decorated ceilings and tables with constellations.

It appears she likes it, Aemond thought.

Until her eye landed on Aegon and Aemond himself with her elbows rested on the left armchair, back slouching, eye concentrated intensely.

Aemond’s heart skipped that she faced him, in devoid of sheepish demeanor. And there, she smiled.

“Shall we get started?” Rhaenyra insisted.

(Y/n) couldn’t stop gawking at Aemond and Aegon.

“My lady,” Rhaenyra called out firmly, and (y/n) snapped back to actuality. (Y/n) eyed on everyone, then looked down onto her hands on the armrests.

Silence ensued. Then (y/n) requested to their introduction since they came to know (y/n)’s. All have introduced themselves—Hightowers and Targaryens. When Green brothers are finally introduced, Aemond spotted (y/n)’s lips curled a little; her dimple dented. But overall, she seemed happy throughout the introduction.

“First, we must address regarding to House Blackwood,” Otto drew the scrolled parchment, and distributed to (y/n) through the sentinel. “This letter is sent from a raven at this morrow.”

Sleeking her wavy strands—long curtain bangs back, she read the lines in the parchment. “Is this supposed to be a joke or something?”

“House Blackwood demands for your head, since they accused you of murdering Remon Blackwood,” Otto said. “Anything to have say in your defense?”

Tongue in cheek, (y/n) chortled, aloud for everyone to hear.

“Does killing others amuse you?” Daemon challenged. “Or would you rather a quick execution by a dragon for your childish act?”

“I’m sorry did you say dragons?”

Daemon unanswered her question, but she knew he wasn’t lying.

(Y/n) recollected herself. “It’s three knights that chased me, remember? They killed Ser Remon Blackwood long before they chased me. I used the blade he gave me, not the large swords.”

“There are other reports that the three knights are imposters,” one claimed. “That their faces aren’t quite as recognizable. And their armor and breastplates are entirely soft—a forge through cheap metal. Their blades and blunt and uncared for.”

“Must’ve been the rapers from the North.”

“Ser Criston, what was the weapon she was holding when you first found her in the woods? Was it a sword?”

“A fine blade that belongs to Remon Blackwood,” Criston replied.

(Y/n) sat there and released several guttural coughs, which got their attention.

“Are you alright?” Alicent concerned.

“I’m fine,” (y/n)’s voice croaked. Alicent ordered the servant to fetch the hot tea, to which you drank after being served.

“Has she drank the Milk of the Poppy,” Otto asked the Maester.

“Apparently she hasn’t drank any since this morning; deeply fell asleep.”

Relaxing in the chair, (Y/n) tossed her hair over to the side before she took out two objects again from the pockets on her nightwear and placed it onto her lips, and blew out smoke, but away from their direction.

“What are those objects that you possessed?” Daemon asked.

Crossing her legs, (y/n) blew out another smoke, her eyes glazed darkly, her demeanor changed as if it was an illusion. “This is the cigarette, and this is a lighter.” She demonstrated the items again, but only she’s precisely shown the golden lighter, carved in detailed dragon, and fire lit from the metal.

“Where are you really from?”

(Y/n) clicked the lighter shut. “I already told you last time,” her voice crossed.

“Are you a slave?” Rhaenyra asked.

(Y/n) is taken aback, brows scrunched, bewildered.

“Everyone saw the markings on your body,” Rhaenyra pointed out.

“No, I got these since I was young. Let’s cut to a chase. What do you want?”

The members of the council baffled at your straightforwardness.

“Since we’re here, I don’t intend on wasting anyone’s time,” she resumed, her voice hardened. “What do you want?” Her voice darkened.

“Are you aware to why you’ve been summoned in the council?” Otto questioned.

“Oh please, do enlighten me,” (y/n) said in sarcasm.

“Lady Rhaenyra has planned on you becoming a knight—you both saved the children and experienced in combat during the battle outside the Red Keep.”

(Y/n) laughed again, though not as cruel. In anger, the knight trudged towards her, but she stopped the knight with her left foot stomped on his breastplate, revealing the red dragon tattoo, your hand ran through your luscious hair; Aemond stared for so long that he ignored his surroundings. He found himself yearning to taste you again.

“At ease, good sir,” Alicent ordered. The knight backed off and your leg lifted down, crossing over to the other.

“Why refuse?” Rhaenyra challenged. “Do you wish to be executed from false charges?”

“You misinterpret me, my lady. Do you want to know what happens when you put a woman as part of the Kingsguard? People will riot. No man would accept a lady knight because they don’t want to be ashamed of not holding much power.” With her elbows propped, the upper body slouched, leaning forward, intensely gawking at their familiar mortified faces. “If anything that you should be worry about,” her index finger pointed outside behind (y/n) at the open archway; behind her is the town of King’s Landing, “it’s the people. People hold you on the highest regard; anything you do, they’ll use it against you. You have dragons,” she reasoned, counting on her fingers, “legions of army and holds the utmost reputation—everyone knows your name and your appearances distinguished from others. If laying a single mistake, people will make an excuse to take the opportunity to tarnish—even bring hell to Westeros. If you put two and two together, it’ll be difficult for people to accept as much as I want to help,” (y/n) cautioned.

Unused cigarette wafted in the crisp air—and (y/n) stomped on it with her fingers.

“As a matter of fact, I couldn’t agree more,” Jason Lannister encouraged. “Ladies are not suitable to guard for the ascendance of a potential heir. Women take longer to dress than men, after all they’re made to be dulled for a tedious hobby.”

Aemond disagreed, otherwise.

“Why save them?” Rhaenyra asked.

(Y/n) blinked.

“Being a child isn’t a sin,” (y/n) said, solemn. “They don’t deserve to what they’ve gone through.”

“Never thought you find this miserable,” Daemon said.

“I have soft spot for children and those who are broken.” She darted her eyes to Aemond once more.

Rhaenyra sighed, her hands enveloped, glancing at neutral Daemon next to her, poised. “We shall find an alternate option for you to abide here in King’s Landing—tasking the vital aspects of being part as the Red Keep’s vessel—everyone has their own role to play, knowing their place, and you’re no exception.”

Refusing, (y/n) inclined back into a relaxing position. “Figures,” (y/n) muttered, posture sank into the chair.

“I know it’s difficult to accept, but should you stay, you’ll learn a thing or two of the culture and the history, everyone around you included,” Rhaenyra suggested. “And we shall do the same to yours. Though the customary traditions in Westeros must steady. But it won’t mean you’re limited from freedom at the assets of your personal values and desires and expression.”

“It would be the wisest,” Rhaenyra added. “People won’t know and comprehend this, but us, despite you’ve given simplistic explanation of your vast side of the story.”

You pondered; fingers tucked on her chin.

“They’ll never accept me,” you lectured, locks undulated in steady motion. “No matter how you vouch or reason for me, they won’t adapt; I’m just an outsider—anyone who has a brain knows that outsiders aren’t something to be cordial. It wouldn’t be as upsetting once I get hurt. They won’t understand yours or my intention if I decide to stay here. Or worse.”

“But there’s still a chance for you to prove yourself, allow your presence to be seen and heard,” Alicent coaxed.

Rhaenyra contemplated. “Or perhaps you could join us at Dragonstone,” she proclaimed, rather blithe. “Of course you’re free to choose.”

Aemond disliked the idea of you residing in Dragonstone as much as Alicent, based on displeasure etched onto their delicate and finely features, green as envy—as Hightower’s colored banner that summons war, strong gazes projected towards Rhaenyra like a serpent in the shadows. Alicent needed you for the pursuits of ruling the throne by her heirs, if needed more allies.

Gritting and grinding your teeth, your tongue clicked. “No, I’m not staying in Dragonstone, either. I don’t want to overstay my welcome, consider how I “arrived”.”

Aemond’s breath unwinded. Flush smothered your cheekbones. Stared long enough until Aegon elbowed him in a single tap, as a reminder to stay focused.

“I’m afraid it’s far from possibility, since you came along way from the other vast side of your world. In the meantime, you must reside here in Westeros, in King’s Landing. We may never know your intentions, but it’s best to keep it simple and quick. Do tells us what you want.”

Refusing, your face turned away, sheepish.

“You want gold? Reputation?” Rhaenyra insisted, to which you answered “no”.

“Do you wish to possess a dragon?” she tested. “If it’s a dragon you want, I’m afraid I can’t—”

“First of all, dragons are hard to take care of. Two, I’m not a Targaryen! That’s your thing, not mine. I can’t even take care of my dog. And third, I don’t believe in dragons.”

Everyone baffled at your statement.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, trying to maintain her composure. “You don’t believe in dragons?”

“Where I come from, they only exist in books, a figment of an imagination in a child’s mind—in tv shows. Or in books like Lord of the Rings.”

Everyone exchanged uncomfortable looks, still befuddled at your straight explanation.

“Then I assume you want the Iron Throne,” Daemon insisted, but the Blacks and Greens shot a piercing glare at him in unison, warning him not to give anymore ideas, but he awaited for (y/n)’s reaction.

You knew what the Iron Throne is, but kept your excitement within with annoyance under disguise. “That chair sounds uncomfortable! I’d rather sit on a cold ground rather than having an iron swords jabbed up and bleeding in my precious ass.”

Aegon snorted, covering his mouth when Otto noticed his grandsons, scowling.

“What can we do to convince you,” Alicent resumed, hands rest on the armchair.

“I don’t think you can help me on this one,” (y/n) said, begging them to let you go.

Rhaenyra maintained her posture. “Then what is it that you truly desire at this moment, Lady (y/n)?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Never.”

“What about now?”

“I still decline.”

Shaking, deep in pensive notion after hearing their relentless offer disguised as blatant curiosity.

Silence prevailed, at first. Fireplace flickered, soft howls bypassed the constellation room. Everything stood still, as does their anticipation, weighing and resting on their fate of the house.

Rising onto her feet, and she got close and flatly pressed down to a cold stone pillar with her hand. “I want to see the ocean, the sky—the smell of salt and cloudy air. I want to feel the wind as I walk by, or draw and paint surrounded by flowers as I looked out onto the ocean as the ships sails by.”

“A very simple, mundane request,” Daemon commented, folded his arms. “Anyone could percept the instability of waves and ships passing through and the fragrant smell of blooming flowers.”

“Sometimes taking the simplest pleasures in life must cherish with joy and savor with love,” you told him, remaining your eye locked onto the waves, wobbling and crashing. “You’re a dragonlord, Prince Daemon, I think you should be grateful. As for me, I rarely get to see the ocean, because I lived somewhere far where it has no ocean, no flowers—the weather is humid and sometimes shows a little rain. On most days, hot air suffocates you to a point you want to drown in cold water. If having an AC would’ve been nice and pile of ice cream to eat.”

Aemond’s brows furrowed, not knowing what you meant of AC and ice cream.

“There’s a chance people might conclude you’re from Dorne or Yiti. Or perhaps as Ser Criston’s sister.”

Aemond watched you shooting Daemon with a deadpan expression on your dulled hues. Criston, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate Daemon’s unnecessary commentary, but made no urging trifle.

“I’m not, and if I do, you would recognize the Dornish accent at this moment. Clearly you can’t. Sorry to disappoint you, dude,” you replied, nonchalant.

“Dude?” Daemon’s eyes twinkled.

“It’s umm…never mind, I’ll tell you about my world later.”

“Anything else,” Rhaenyra asked, anticipating.

Silence occurred.

“What of other things you acquire to be more convincing,” Alicent chimed in, coaxing, sensing an alarming and animated expression hidden from you.

“Nothing,” you squeaked, though her cheeks flushed says so otherwise.

Aegon snorted as Aemond lifted the corners of his mouth into a piffling smirk—as he found your sudden expression unexpectedly chaste with shyness and charm.

“The matters settled, then,” Rhaenyra got up. “I look forward to see you and more. I expect great and admirable accomplishments from you, Lady (y/n). I think it’s that for now you must stay in the capital. If you do intend to serve the realm, I’ll reward you, anything to your heart’s desire. As long as you make contributions, we’ll make your dream as certain. In the meantime, that is.”

“But I—”

“In the meantime,” Rhaenyra proclaimed.

Your brow quirked, then sighed as the princess wasn’t the type to give in.

(Y/n) ventured in a languid motion near towards the members in the council. In the end, the favor on her side—Rhaenyra and Alicent’s request—might go smoothly if done right. But Aemond’s heart grew heavy at a thought of you leaving King’s Landing, leaving Westeros, feared you might not recall your ventures and people you encountered alongside of the journey—feared your mind and sight of seeing Westeros and its people are nothing but a figment dream.

Alicent pushed herself up from her reclining. “I shall do my part as well. You’ll do great things, I’m certain,” she assured (y/n), enfolded atop (y/n)’s cold hand.

Happiness faded from (y/n)’s lips when a cold end of the blade—Dark Sister—tipped and traced a thin line on her centered neck. Daemon’s violet eyes gleamed at hers; her hands raised an indication of surrender.

Aemond’s eye snapped in fury. The guards Rhaenyra accompanied clutched their blades, viewing like vultures standby.

“I’ll never trust a cunt like you,” Daemon proclaimed. “You may wield a blade, you may save anyone who you wish, but you’ll never be part of the court. The look in your eye—arrogant and maliciously stricken with pretense. Common whores like you—pretending to be humble and virtuous when you really are neither.”

Yet you fuck whores in the Streets of Silk on your pastime, Aemond thought.

Sighing, (y/n) said, “Then kill me. If you really think I’m dangerous to the Red Keep and to the monarchy like Ser Marrow claimed, then end me.” Then she gripped Dark Sister and pointed it at her chest daringly. “Go ahead. I dare you.”

He scoffed, despite Rhaenyra’s attempt on pushing Daemon back.

“Don’t speak to me as if you’re my equal. We are nothing alike.”

“Thank god I don’t have a cock, then,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “I don’t have to worry whether I’m going to get gelded or not.”

Like a child, Aegon stifled his giggling.

“Fucking simpleton,” Daemon hissed, pressured the Dark Sister. “You know nothing of Westeros and its people. Might as well have your tongue remove. What say you, warrior?” he mocked.

“Seven Hells, Daemon, you’ve said enough,” Rhaenyra warned. “(Y/n), i insist that should you cease your quarrel.”

Aemond strode onward, never minding Alicent, who was rushing to his side, begging to not worsen an escalating quarrel. But Aemond paid no mind; his mother’s words drowned and emptied in his fueled rage.

“I saved both lives—a boy and a girl,” (y/n) protested. “I saved two young people who are separately belong from two mothers—who were at their near deaths. I saved you too, by the way. Guess it doesn’t matter, right?”

Daemon tsked. “And that’ll be the last thing you’ll ever save, considering your reputation has been nothing but meddlesome. I’m afraid your reasons on saving your neck has come to expire.”

Aemond trudged in front of (y/n), holding his long dagger and situated his honed silver on Daemon’s neck. He felt her cold hand pressed against his chest and gave a little push, but no to avail; she’s still weak under the Milk of the Poppy.

“Hold down your blade, Uncle,” Aemond warned. “You gave her quite a fright. I thought the deal has been final.”

“I never thought I’d take you as a fool, Aemond—that’s twice you’ve committed a sudden act.” Daemon’s lips curled in disgust. “Being blinded by her, I see.”

“She saved my sister’s life,” Aemond justified. “And I’m eternally grateful.”

Without shifting his eye, he saw you wandered your glance up to him before facing back to Daemon.

Aemond shifted closer, Targaryen against Targaryen.

“Take one more move, and you’ll lose another pair of your eyesight,” Daemon sneered. “What happens then, if I do cut your other eye out? So, shall we test it?”

(Y/n) managed to block herself in between Aemond and Daemon.

“Then I’ll be his other eye,” (y/n) declared, defended, one arm spread, shielding Aemond, the other hand held high against Daemon, bandage slipped from her visage.

All noise ceased.

Aemond’s heart quickened at a roaring declaration in a vibration on your tone—soft yet firm and fiery—like a dragon reborn.

“I’ll be his other eye,” she repeated, shielding Aemond. “Stay back,” she hissed at Aemond, insisting on shoving him back to lessen the tension between two factions. Aemond glimpsed at her shaken hand, yearning to hold her.

Even (y/n) knew a large cost of encountering Targaryens through fate, aside learning the history. Dragons never cower in their palace of red and gold of Red Keep, in a palace of black stoned walls of Dragonstone, their banners—sigils of red or green. Dragons come and reign in a price of fire and blood and fearsome, colossal beasts taming Westeros.

Knowing the consequences of her shared words, who knows what might occur depending on her unfickle judgement.

“You heard the maiden,” Aemond said with a smug on his face. “Release your blade, Uncle,” he commanded.

Grimaced, Daemon drew his sword back in his sheath, parting the gap, and endowed (y/n) and Aemond with imprisoned through his hues. “She’s no maiden. Perhaps I shall call her “Green’s bitch”.”

“I’m no one’s bitch,” you said, nose flaring.

“A bitch would always claim they’re no cunt,” Daemon remarked.

Aemond’s eye narrowed. Little by little, he stood inches near (y/n), like a proud and mighty dragon stood by its owner. Blood shared by dragon and Valyria.

Watching close by, Rhaenyra and Alicent shared knowing glances.

Overhearing the sound behind them, the king produced an agonizing sound of his breath, (y/n)’s able to catch him from falling in brisk reflex.

“Get the maester, quick!” Alicent cried, as you are clinging onto the ailing king, who was moaning and groaning due to his severe ail.

Everyone made haste as Alicent and Rhaenyra assisted (y/n) on putting back Viserys onto his chair.

Adjusting the king’s posture, Alicent dimissed (y/n) by saying, “We shall talk later. I must tend to my husband. You go on ahead.”

And with that, the council adjourned—(y/n) ushered out, giving Aemond one last look with a slight bent on her neck.

With a final word, Aegon said to Aemond, as they trudged back to the halls. “Daemon took great pleasure in stirring commotion, especially a certain lady, who you’re so keen on.”

Aemond hasn’t utter a single word.

“Obviously, he has missed his youth involved with treachery and rebelliousness. I supposed these days have kept peace quite busy despite our father’s poor lapse of judgment.”

Aemond sauntered farther, but Aegon caught on in a same pace.

“I never knew you had it on you, dear brother. But was it really an act of good will for Helaena’s life or was it a pure instinct to an act of affection?”

“It was all for Helaena’s sake,” Aemond said.

Aegon leered. “Is it?”

From there, Aegon fled.

For once, Aegon never said something stupid or drunk.

Aemond stalked his mother on meeting (y/n) in the chambers he trudged in upon darkest shadows, carefully listening in.

Alicent came over, agitated even concealed in unsuccessful, mortified demeanor. “The Council has been reached to a verdict,” Alicent told (y/n), as if it’s a death sentence—probably the men discussed and finalized to an upcoming conclusion.

He watched as (y/n) was plopping onto the bedside, the last cigarette held between finger has thawed into ashes.

“I see,” (y/n) soften tone echoed the room, rippling against his skin.

Alicent touched (y/n)’s upper arm. “I apologize on behalf of the circumstances. I know it can’t be easy,” she said, sincere.

(Y/n)’s eyes twinkled.

“Despite Rhaenyra vouching for you for saving her son, you have declared of being Aemond’s other eye, and thus, your declaration brought an uprising of questions to the Blacks.”

(Y/n) acknowledged.

“A word of advice; should you wish to keep your wits and tongue, play your part, and keep your head down for the Blacks not to detect or test your patience,” Alicent said. “Common folk, even nobles tend to have ill intentions far from a plain gossip. Kingdoms tend to hatch a birth of vipers and stabbers every corner of the castle walls.”

“I’ll do it,” (y/n) said, without looking back at her, picking on her fingertips.

Alicent clasped her hands over (y/n)’s, and heaved. “Rhaenyra and I are in a current matters of discussion regarding of your future duties in King’s Landing. She proposed the idea of you being as the cupbearer while I proposed the idea of you being as Helaena’s handmaiden. Nothing has set in stone. We did so to ensure of your livelihood be at safest, to cease the gossip that has been spread far and wide regarding to your arrival. But first, the king must anoint you at the throne room for a private ceremony—no audience shall be present.”

You stayed silent; your right hand stroke your left wrist; the feeling the absence without your possession.

“Is something the matter?”

(Y/n) shook your head, light-headed.

“In time of fear and change, that is where you must be brave,” Alicent advised, eyes glistened.

Aemond has never heard of Alicent—his mother—spoken ever so motherly to anyone, not even Aegon.

A sudden shift glided in you when you have decided what to do as (y/n)’s role in King’s Landing. “I’ll bend the knee.”

Alicent’s dulled eyes brightened at your answer. “Then I shall inform my husband regarding to your call.” She laid her hand on (y/n)’s shoulder blade.

Once she stood up, (y/n) bid Alicent goodnight.

And Aemond stayed in the dark, and the only words replaying in his mind are the words she declared opposing the Rogue Prince.

I’ll be his other eye.

The way you shielded his body and ordered him to shift back, Aemond knew that no noble woman or commoner in any Houses would defend him and his honor as a Targaryen and Hightower. Or more than his status as a one-eyed prince. As a swordsman, he can hold off his battles, even in close quarters, but something about you, a strong-headed girl, who knew of little consequences, protected him that he find as devilishly unique.

His mind stirred in a matter of battling between whether he want to fight your battles or claim you.

Perhaps both.

Aemond had certainly come to a closure, a predetermined arrangement of taking you, but obstacles must come forth before a dragon claims the maiden as his crown, glory and a hymn that he won’t mind spend the rest of his life hearing.

Upon a daylight hour, the decision came to a close when both Greens and Blacks debated to assigning on (y/n)’s fate for the realm, despite a given answer. In the end, King Viserys has a final say, which both factions surrendered for an hesitant agreement. In the Red Keep, guest of nobles and common folk alike flocked inside to a point where it’s nearly and impossible to fit, all awaiting, all mind shared one reason.

Hours before the occurrence in the throne room, in Aemond’s quarters, two servants awoke him to bathe, and one maid provided him information regarding to (y/n)—the Maester inspected and mended on her wounds once more before withdrawing. Her eye, however, is healed, just as it was yesterday when she ripped the bandage off.

In the throne, there she was, blocked by tall members of the Kingsguard.

He imagined that a maidservant tugged the strings harder for a cinched waist, despite this, (y/n) cooperated without a fight. Knowing resistance will bring disaster. Until a thought of disaster is long gone. From there, the guards veiled for (y/n) to cross passage towards the steps of the Iron Throne, seeing upon a pristined condition—clad to an outfit befitting for a youthful and appeased maiden to soften at the hardened image of a brute fighter. Her straight long (h/c) locks with thick stands braided as headband atop of her head; strands of baby hair left untouched, and soft paint dabbed it on your chapped lips and cheekbones, tainted in reddish shade to liven your surly visage.

King Viserys proclaimed and summoned (y/n); she knelt with a hand over her chest, head inclining down that her long (h/c) locks framed on sides, reciting her vows. King Viserys crowned her with a green brooch with a four-pointed star sigil pinned on her centered chest once she stood.

“As a last hope for a darkened age within House Targaryen, in hopes to reunite both factions,” King Viserys announced, hoarse. “Salvation rests in your hands. I wish you nothing but the very best to soothe the realm with your grace, Lady Greenstar.”

Two factions appalled at his last claim underneath their vacant neutrality in their hues. Spectators gathered and exchanged in gossip, all frantic and perplexed from their King’s announcement.

A girl from a modern century has been remade through rain of fire and light, befall and rose from sky. Arise onto her feet, who peered upon audience, before the eyes of the two factions, who solely darting her eyes to Aemond, as if she wanted him to sense her heart is surged with heaviness, rebirth as Lady Greenstar.

Aemond did—but couldn’t offer the arms of comfort. His fierce and benevolent maiden. But in the eyes of Gods, Westeros won’t lay rest, as he keeps his ardor hidden.

And chaos entered.

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[neshabeingchildish]

We'll Raise Him Right, Part 2

Tagged: Charlotte Page, Max Thunderman, Mika Macklin, Chapa De Silva

Notes: Don’t mind me. Just clearing my mind of a little bit of Charlotte x Max lore from my notes.

Plot: Mini Max has been training underneath Mika, AKA Shoutout, and Chapa AKA Volt comes around to see the progress. Potentially Zenryverse, but no mention of Zenryverse characters.

If Mini Max was startled, he would let out a yelp and everyone was startled. Not from the sound of the yelp, but from the link of his feeling with the sound. If he was nervous, everyone got nervous. He learned to hum a tune for everyone else to calm down, even if he couldn’t calm himself down. But if he cried, it was like a cloud of dread covered everyone in his immediate world. 

Once, he began crying when he couldn’t pet a service dog, because Charlotte told him, “That doggie is working, Maxi. We can’t play with him right now.” His tears were practically immediate. The disabled pet owner began crying, the dog began barking and Charlotte saw on the faces of nearby bystanders that they were next. Hurriedly, she tried to get her child away from people, while Max reached out to take him off of her hands. “We aren’t honing this skill with him. Why is he wielding it?” She asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Max, unable to find his singing voice in this despair, cried back, “Because he can’t control it, since we aren’t honing it. It’s tied to his feelings! Either he’ll have to be taught how to disable his feelings, or taught how to enable his powers.”

It would be cruel to try to make him disable his feelings. He was a little kid. He was human. He deserved to have his feelings.

“I’ll schedule training with Mika,” Charlotte said, her voice a little clearer. She realized that the dread was gone and hope came in. Max let out a relieved laugh and they both checked on the boy. He was distracted by a Happy Fun Burger. They nodded at each other and headed that way to get him a meal and a toy.

Theoretically, they knew how the hypnosis worked, and Mika could teach him based on that. Fortunately, more often than not, he was a very happy child. That fact made him a joy to be around for most people, most of the time. Humming and singing felt nice, so he often did it to turn his feelings around when they began to go to sadness or fear. Those were generally the bad feelings that got to him sometimes. He hardly ever got mad. 

When it was time for training, Mika set the first goal. This goal was that his voice would become both a serenade and a stronghold. He had a human vocal coach and a super vocal coach, and Mika was his mentor and manager. She would review his training with both coaches, monitor his scans, and give him lessons according to those findings.

“I was a teenager when I got my superpower. I was criticized for blooming later than everyone else on my team. I know what it's like to think constantly about your superpower. This is what I want you to always remember, because it can be even more important for you, considering that you were born super and your power has an emotional aspect to it. It may feel like your superpower is your identity. It is not. Your superpower is a characteristic. It can be a gift, a tool, an instrument, a weapon, etc; but it is not who you are. And, it is not in control.” 

He smiled at her and she felt a tingle in her heart. A flutter of appreciation and of trust. She would never let him down. He wasn’t just her greatest project. He would be one of the most important aspects of her life as a superhero.

Mini Max was advanced in learning. Max was quite arrogant about making a perfect genius the first time around. Because he played guitar and sang to him when he was in the womb, he also took credit for Mini Max’s musicality (despite the fact that Charlotte could also play guitar and Maxi only ever fiddled with instruments when attempting to collect notes to assign voice actions to). He would find a note, sing it and attach it to some type of command. 

By age 4, he had began to use a vocalise in order to move things around. “I don’t scientifically understand this aspect of his superpower,” Chapa said, watching him sing softly at a small ball and keeping it in the air with his song, almost like a seal. “Doesn’t he have voice hypnosis and sonic scream? How the heck does that give him… singing telekinesis, or whatever?”

“Because his voice is moving the object,” Mika said, as though it was obvious. The two of them were in their superhero outfits and Mini Max was in his training gear, oblivious to their discussions, as they were too far away and he was preoccupied with the day’s practice.

“Breath control is an important part of vocal technique, so he’s able to manipulate his breath and vocally move the object. Sonic scream can devastate things when aimed to do so. But, if we tone down the volume and regulate the breath less forcefully; yes, we can move things. I think of it as a vocal shove. He is a natural with great practice and teachings, so he can turn it down as low as even a vocal nudge, and that’s what you’re watching him to with the ball.”

Chapa was impressed. “Could he… could he whisper an attack?”

Mika’s smile grew wide at her partner’s interest. “Not whisper, but check this out…” Mika made a call with her sonic voice to gain Mini Max’s attention, then made a gesture like a choir director to end the singing. Maxi quickly stopped his vocalise and caught the ball in one hand to turn his attention to his teacher. “Will you show Volt your “hit a note” move?”

He nodded, smiling. This was something that he was quite confident about. Mini Max threw the ball gently into the air, then hit a particular note for just a moment, and with that note, spiked it across the yard as far through the sky as he could.

“No way! Kid can throw a punch with his singing voice!” She gave him a fist bump.

Mika interjected, “More than that, Volt. He can use his voice to quite literally touch things. Humans, he can touch both emotionally and physically. Other objects, he can touch at just about any volume or pitch, and depending on what he puts into the notes determines how hard or soft he touches things.” She leaned in and whispered, “I have a theory that at a certain pitch, he may be capable of killing someone.”

“That is AWESOME!” Chapa cheered.

“It is… a fascinating but terrible possibility.” She handed Chapa a pair of extra noise blocking earmuffs and put on a pair of her own. She lifted her hand to get Mini Max’s attention, then asked, “Wanna show Volt how to handle a tough crowd?”

Now, the kid gulped and looked at an arrangement of rows of various glass containers, lined up on multiple heighted surfaces. There were several rows, and so many glass containers, not evenly spaced or anything. He had seen Shoutout do great things, but when he tried some of the same things, he could never accomplish them. Now, she was requesting he do this in front of someone else? A fellow superhero, at that?

“Remember!” Mika chimed, “I’ve been a hero for years and have been training and working since I was a teenager. You are not a hero and nobody expects you to be. You’re a child with a superpower that you’re practicing to develop. I don’t expect to see you do what I can do. I want you to show us what you can do.”

He held these words in his heart and mind as he put one finger into the air and one to his ear.

“Can do, can do, can do…” he sang, raising his voice until he found the note he needed, then pointed the lifted finger towards the rows of glasses and sung a very pointed, “Ooo! Ooo! Oo! OOooo!” He either moved, cracked, knocked over, or broke one of most of the glasses. His shoulders sank and he remembered the awe he was in seeing Mika shout and reduce each glass that she aimed at to chards within moments. 

He turned to face the heroes as they removed their ear muffs and came forward. “Crowd’s still tough.”

Volt guffawed, “Are you kidding? It took Shoutout forever to be able to pull off a move like that.” Mini Max squinted his eyes in confusion.

“Not forever, obviously. Just a while.” She looked at Chapa, “I told you don’t use hyperbole with him. He’s four.”

“A genius four, though,” Chapa challenged.

Ignoring her words and placing a hand over her mouth, Mika said, “Good job, M. That’s it for today.”

[argentaur]

Prompt: Runes

Sirius had once gifted Remus a stone pendant with an engraved Algiz rune. It had been the result of many, many late nights spent together working on Runes assignments, where they’d figured out early on that they approached rune readings very differently, and that they would rarely agree on an interpretation. Remus used transliteration and calculation as the basis of his readings, preferring logic and method, whereas Sirius thrived in spinning divinations and extracting symbolic meanings from the assembly of runes.

They had been rarely helpful to each other in completing their assignments, but it had made for many flowing debates and private jokes and references between them, one of which had led to a more sincere conversation sparked by the Algiz rune. Algiz, which meant protection. It was the counterforce against evil, Remus would recite, it meant enlightenment and blessing. And Sirius had added, it pointed to inner strength, it was about self-discovery and personal growth, it called for courage and to face one’s fears.

It had been a very rounded summary of Algiz’ meanings and interpretations, but most strikingly, Remus had thought that it perfectly encapsulated the root of Remus’ torments, and what he hoped to be. That he could one day conquer the beast inside of him, that he could overcome the hurdles and obstacles that life had put in his way, but most of all, it had been the implicit hope for a future, to be able to look forward and past the hardships. A hope that had first been sparked by his friends—he couldn’t imagine how he would have adapted to Gryffindor house without the three of them—and hope that kept being inspired by their unceasing loyalty.

But more than that, Remus had privately thought, it was Sirius that lied at the core of his motivations. His friends were his crutch, they steadied him, but Sirius made him feel fearless, he was what lit a fire in his soul, Sirius was the push that drove him to be better, to grow and move forward. Sirius was his safety, standing tall and defiant, and in a way, he was everything that Algiz was meant to represent: a shield around his weakness, a guiding star, and strength to face the uncertain future. Sirius made him dare and hope—for more.

And so, he’d thought the Algiz pendant had been a lovely gift, kind in its protective properties, but more preciously, it reminded him of Sirius himself. Sirius who’d given him the stone, but also Sirius who embodied everything it meant. Perhaps, he had intended to say, I wish you the best, I hope for your safety, but Remus would have liked to claim, you keep me safe, you are the best and I wish for you. 

But until the day he dared to voice his heart, he would treasure the pendant, and keep it as a reminder.

Conversely, Sirius had never properly explained the rune he favored, Perthro, except for making a quip about it being a cup and a womb. From his own studies, Remus knew it represented fate, the unassailable fate, and the uncertain future. It was an odd choice when it came to Sirius, and so, Remus hadn’t bothered giving him a rune gift in return, not when he was uncertain of the meaning it held to him.

Remus looked over the records he’d requested from one of the Order members, it had been difficult getting any substantial information that wasn’t the newspaper headline or pitying relay of the gruesome fact. He’d been gone for close to a month at that point, and it’d been longer since he’d properly grasped what went on in Sirius’ head. It was at moments like these that he wished back the hours of easy debates on runes, they had derailed into such nonsensical discussions because Remus didn’t believe in divination, but it had revealed a lot about Sirius’ perspective and his way of thinking.

Azkaban Prison Inmate Sirius Black 【 ᛈ ᛉ 3 9 0 】

Remus hadn’t known what to do with the news at first, he’d felt disbelieving, and then adrift. The world as he knew it had been shattered, and all that remained was him, a broken and washed out him, lying among the pieces. He’d tried to understand, and he couldn’t reconcile the Sirius in his mind, his memory, with the Sirius that the world would remember. He felt as though he’d returned to a foreign world, one in which Sirius, James, Lily and Peter simply didn’t exist.

And so, he’d averted his eyes from reality, refused to accept, and he’d looked for answers, to make sense of things, but there were no hints, no crumbs, nothing except an unflattering photograph and an impersonal Ministry designation, Perthro, Algiz, 3, 9, 0.

He didn’t know if seeing his name hurt more or seeing him stripped of his name and remembered by a code. Sirius Black once foretold brilliance, his last name a heavy burden, a stain, but one he’d sought to overturn. But now he was another criminal, another Dark wizard in Azkaban, Sirius the star, so brilliant he’d blinded them, Sirius the scourge of summer, he’d truly burnt them all.

Remus had since figured out the reading of Perthro, the self-determined fate. It meant cause and effect, it meant the hidden and the unknown. It meant peering into the dark but steering the ship with confidence. Fate might hand a person an unexpected lot, but it was past experiences, accumulated knowledge and personal aspirations that shape decision. A person’s future was determined by the sum of their actions.

Perthro was fate, was causality, was consequence, was karma. So, perhaps, he deserved what he got.

@wolfstarmicrofic (952 words)

[writingsofwesteros]

Rhaenyra’s poor daughter

I’m kind of wondering what kind of man would’ve ended up as her husband. Because Aegon (the petty bitch. As always) essentially just gave her to the Boltons like a blank check anyone could take. So most likely they chose among themselves.

She hardly knows his face even before the wedding. The only reason Aegon escorted her personally was to further rub it all in her face. He knows she’s heard the old stories of this house….. and even if they partake in none of that anymore, you don’t just abandon the disposition such acts require. She’s so sure she’s going to a house of madmen. And marrying one of them!

Aegon played devoted uncle when he walked her down the aisle. That would be the first time she caught a glimpse of her husband. Most likely pale and with those ghostly Bolton eyes. Immediately she’s uneasy. And Aegon notices.

He can see she is more than regretting ever trying to kill him. And he takes the opportunity to make it all worse.

He whispers to her in Valyrian. To any outsiders, it’s simply an Uncle soothing his niece’s wedding jitters. The new King, who was so kind as to personally accompany her. Personally give her away. The North is pleased by such attention. If only they knew.

His whispers confirm what she was already thinking.

“You know… I didn’t exactly pick this house. I sent out offers to every house that would take you far away from King’s Landing and keep you there. This family and your soon to be lord husband, were VERY eager to have you married. I think you know why dear niece…. Even though you pretend not to. Any notions of stirring up rebellion…. You’d best abandon them. You may be a bastard but you still have dragon blood. And there’s exactly one thing this house was interested in with you.” He sees her trying to keep composure, but feels her grip on his arm tighten.

“Don’t fool yourself. You and I both know it’s your womb they have a particular interest in…. Not to worry, I’ve assigned a trusted maester to watch over you. Will the maester aid you in avoiding pregnancy or encourage it…. Now that’s a different answer.” They’re almost done with the walk. And he sees the blood draining from your face. Before he lets her go he gives a parting remark.

“This is the price of treason niece…. Not just yours. But all your family’s. You are going to be making dragonseeds for this family until your womb can carry no more.” He smirks. “Oh… I do wonder if Boltons… peculiar tastes transferred to the bedroom instead.”

He presses a kiss on her forehead. “Enjoy your wedding night, niece.”

To outsiders it looked like a simple kiss of a family member. A gentle goodbye and encouragement. To Rhaenyra’s daughter, it felt like none of that. But rather the stamp of a seal on her sentence. Maybe the maester would be here to help her avoid many pregnancies…. Though when she saw Aegon’s face, she doubted that

Aegon does admit, perhaps the taunting was too far. But truthfully the taunting was her punishment. The rest of this served as a warning to her family. Of course the maester was a spy for him. And as such, he would ensure that she was comfortable here… comfortable enough. As long as she and her family behaved.

The maester was under orders, that should someone cross their king, he was to do much more than refuse the Princess contraceptives. But rather give her the opposite

Aegon returns to the capital very smug. It’s Rhaenyra who he visits usually. And he’s decided to tell her the happy news of her daughter’s marriage!

ALL OF THIS Mean!Dick of a king Aegon is too delicious !!

Poor thing is shivering as she gets to her new husband; eyes so wide and she can hear her heart pounding. The answering smirk from the man caused her to gulp.

The words being spoken hardly came to her.

~

"I do wonder if your daughter will take after you in more ways than one." Aegon purred as he sat across from his sister. "I am sure her new husband to be will enjoy seeing if it is."

"All of this is your fault.." He rubs salt in her wounds some more.

[etchina-danjon]

(Uzumaki Breeding Program) "Alright Miss Kushina all you need to do is sign this waver and we can begin with the program. After you sign it you are to head to the designated warehouse where you prepare yourself as we discussed and wait for your partner to arrive." States one of the ninja assigned to give this sort of "special" mission to Kushina, of course it was more of a project they asked her to volunteer for, but still it was supposed to be for the purposes of rebuilding the clan she belonged to. Though there was a surprise that was in store for her when her oartner would arrive. Still they just wanted the paperwork to be finalized to show she accepted the terms and conditions. Though the form also had a secondary purpose that they neglected to inform her about. She would find out eventually though should certain conditions are met.

Even though Kushina was volunteering to do this, she was still a tad nervous. She's only had one lover, which was her husband that passed away. They had a single son together that she raised and loved. But she knew her clan was dying out and there were a limited amount of women that could donate their body to this. So she felt like it was her duty to go through with it. She was still young, healthy, and plenty fertile to have more children and honestly, she's been having a bit of baby fever lately.

Shaking off her nerves, she grasped the pen and signed the papers. Only slightly glancing at what they said. Kushina really should have read those papers, "Right, everything has been signed. I will head to my room now." She looked at the paper she was given that had the number of the warehouse on it and headed in that direction. The whole time she was wondering what doing this was going to be like. Who she was going to be paired with. Kushina felt a mix of excitement and nervousness as she approached the building.

Once she got there she opened it up. It had many different supplies. She was told to take the fertility pills on the table first, which she did. They left water for her. The pills would cause her to ovulate, and grow hot. Aid her in getting wet for the process. Then she walked over to the chains dangling in the center of the room. She didn't understand why this was required but she followed the rules.

Kushina got on her knees and reached up, clipping and locking both cuffs around her wrists. They forced her in an upright position where all her holes were easy access. Once the cuffs were locked in place, they couldn't be removed until someone with a key came to free her. While she nervously waited for her partner the drugs took effect. Her face flushed, her slit grew wet. Her womb burned with emptiness. Kushina felt so hot she was starting to get impatient.

[opalprince]

Hate Leads To The Devil

By opalprince

*Content warnings for racism, sexism, homophobia, graphic violence, abortion, and SA are mentioned in this story alongside religious corruption; read with caution.*

Once upon a time, there lived a kingdom ruled by a god who ensured that his people were treated well.

If the children were lost, he would ensure that they would safely return to their families; if a woman was abused or accosted by force, he would make sure that her tormentor was punished severely; if the crops were destroyed, he would heal it so that the people would never starve.

The people of the kingdom were grateful for their ruler's kindness and justice; everyone appreciated everything that he had done for them.

Yet the same could be said for a select few,

Among the kingdom of God were his followers, who ensured that God's teaching was spread across the kingdom. Every moral that God taught was their job to teach to the people. Yet, despite their loyalty, they were discussed by some of the choices he made.

The first choice that God made was to ensure that everyone was treated as duke and duchess, and the followers had a problem with this as some of the people who were of different color and beliefs were going to be at the same levels of royalty as they were despite their background and what they look like. So the followers went to God to complain how the people of different colors shouldn't become duke and duchess because they deserve to be at the bottom. However, when they voice their judgment, God says,

" These people have struggled throughout their lives; their ancestors were forced to make sacrifices against their will, fight their way out of slavery, and fight to earn their right to live among you through the harsh environments of poverty and prejudice; they have no sin so they shall become duke and duchess in my land."

Disgusted, the followers left anger but refused to let God know of their disappointment in his choice.

His second choice was to make sure that women had access to a medicine that would ensure that they would never get pregnant till they were ready to reach motherhood. This upset the followers so much that they complained to God again. Saying that women shouldn't have this medicine because it prevents them from learning motherhood, as well as the possibility of killing their womb if they continue to use this. However, after they made their case, God said,

" Women have been through enough, just as they have earned their right to be your equal. This medicine allows them to be ready for the days of motherhood; it helps them they can ensure that they have a stable home, escape their abuser and rapist, as well as they survive death; I will not destroy the medicine that serves them and them alone."

Disgusted once more, the followers left God irritated more by his answer.

God's third choice was to create a potion for those who wanted to change their genders, as well as a powerful blessing because he saw how unhappy they were with the bodies they were in the roles assigned to them after their birth. The followers were livid to the point where one of them attempted to harm the queer couples. However, an Angel appeared before the follower, taking the blow instead. This time, God came to the scene and demanded his followers explain themselves. Once again, the followers discuss their problems and how the people who choose to change their gender and who they love are a sin. To which God replied,

" They have done no sin; they have done nothing but chose the path they wanted for themselves. They did not kill, they did not steal, nor did they hurt anyone. There for they shall not be punished; they will face punishment for you all have not only shown hatred in your hearts, but you have chosen to commit an act of violence in my kingdom, leave and do not come back for a hundred days til you have learned how hatred leads you nowhere."

Punished by their God, the followers left the kingdom and went into the forest, waiting till their hundred days were up. But within the days of their exile, they were approached by a devil.

" Why are you all still in my forest?" asked the Devil. "I thought you would be only around for a few days, but you have been here a month. Why is that?" One of the followers explained their story to the Devil, whining about how God is making fair to those who they hate and how it angers them. And with a gleeful smile, the Devil suggested an idea.

" Your God may have decided these choices for freedom and free will, but they are not permanent, for in four years, another angel will be chosen by the people to become the next ruler and have his title; I will make sure that these laws will disappear for your comfort, however in return, you have to make sure that I am chosen to be the next ruler. "

And without a second thought, the followers agreed to the Devil's term, unaware of the mistake they had made. And once their times of exile were up, God allowed his followers to return with a warning to their hatred. And not wanting to piss God off again, they agreed; till then, they waited till the four years were up till the day of the new ruler came. During those days, they told other people to vote for the Devil by spreading lies, lying about how God wants the Devil to be the next ruler and how the Devil can make everyone rich, but not telling their reason why. Some of the people were skeptical and cautious because they knew that the Devil was nothing but a liar and a narcissist, so they avoided following the follower's advice in favor of the Angel with her promise of lower payments and more potent medicine. Yet, for the others, they accepted it out of the belief of being rich.

As the day came, the Angel and the Devil came among the people to plead their case. The Angel who cared for the people in God's Kingdom claims to protect the laws that God made while ensuring what she had promised to ensure the people that their health will be the main focus. When it was the Devil's turn, he claimed that he would punish every wrong person that God had allowed to live in his kingdom while making rude and inappropriate gestures toward the Angel without care.

Despite the Devil's confession, the people who were convinced by the followers stayed with their decision, and after many trials and tests, in the end, everyone chose the Devil.

Heartbroken by the choice that the people made, the Angel left in grief in her heart but was stopped by God, who told her to gather the people who chose her and to take them to the castle.

While everyone celebrated the devil as their new ruler and God, the followers came forward asking if the Devil would do as he promised in punishing the people they dreamed unworthy as well as the riches he promised along the way.

" Why, of course, I kept my promise," said the Devil, " but I'm just thinking of how to make things worse for you too. Did I focus on the people who don't deserve the title of royalties, medicine, and positions? ALL OF YOU ARE TRAPED WITH ME AS WELL!!!!"

Before the followers could process what was going on, the Devil summoned his minions to terrorize the people who made him the rulers, with the laws that were made by God destroyed. The followers suffer the consequences of their hatred and ignorance by being forced to become slaves, unable to escape as their tounges were cut off, and forced into shoes filled with rusted nails whenever they walked. And they spent the rest of their days serving the Devil till one of them dropped dead.

As the chaos continued for days, the Angel and the people stayed at the castle. God promised the people that the Devil would be gone in four years and that a new ruler would make things right again.

[deathmetalangel]

LIFE IS UNFAIR, KILL YOURSELF, OR GET OVER IT (DAMIAN WAYNE X F!READER/PLATONIC)

warnings: violence, blood, death, mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, mentions of child abuse, verbal abuse, extreme injuries

damian wayne fighting alongside his knight, and the first person to gain his respect.

based on child psychology by black box recorder and some random evangelion dialogue

Y/n was a silent child. Harsh to the outside world much like it was to her. No, she wasn’t like those spoilt brats that believed everything should be handed to her. She just didn’t want to fight anymore.

Since the age of three y/n was forced to wield a blade. A weapon born of her pitiful mothers womb. To be handed over to the League of Assassin’s following her birth like a calf ready to be raised for the slaughter. She was only trained as a formality. They had full intention of using her to her fullest and then disposing of her.

Perhaps she’d be lucky and die on the battlefield as her creator intended. If not, then may the universe have mercy on her soul. Even though she was raised to protect the heir, she did rarely see him. He was training with his mother Talia, while she was trained by Talia’s sister to ensure nothing happened to the young master.

She did have her own forms of rebellion, but all of them were short lived. Her silence to keep everything out was met with the annoyance of her higher ups as well as starvation until she could actually say what she wanted. It didn’t matter to her. Y/n only waited for the fateful day she would rush into battle and he ended by a fatefully and precisely aimed weapon. Then she would be freed of her servitude she was born into.

When she was a bit older she retaliated by lacking in her training. Showing no interest in working for her tormentors. She was beaten until she couldn’t move. It didn’t matter to her. None of it did. All y/n cared about was shunning everything that came her way. Even those saddened glances Nyssa directed towards her as her body was dragged away by guards.

Y/n had contemplated death many times. Even Damian could see that in the passing glances he got at his knight during missions or throughout the compound. However, she vowed to never die to someone below her caliber. Her training wouldn’t be for nought. Despite her distain for the rigorous and harsh techniques being beaten into her bones, she acknowledged their effectiveness.

She had deciced long ago to either die on her own terms or not at all. Only a coward would die to someone weaker than they were. Y/n was many things, but a coward was definitely something she wasn’t.

Her blade rested on her hip as she stood by her liege. Maybe the gods would grant mercy upon her today. They were under attack. Her assignment was to guard the heir with her last breath. She very well intended to do so. If it meant granting her the eternal freedom she craved.

Damian shifts nervously in her presence. Y/n had a powerful aura that demanded the attention of those around her. Yet, as if to get back at life she remained unfazed and silent. Like a child throwing a tantrum, but with the silent treatment in order to get what they want.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized. Y/n was just a child. She was actually younger than he was. Never given the chance to grow up at all. Even after sixteen grueling years, she’s still a child mentally. A child that knows only to complain to get what they want. Or in order to stop what they don’t.

“Stop acting so stiff. You look like a cardboard cutout.” Damian snips at the girls cold demeanor, for being one year his junior she sure acted much older than he ever did. Which is why she remained silent at his childish taunt. “If I have to endure being around such a pathetic wind up doll like you, the least you can do is humor me by saying something. Or do you only speak when your master asks you too.”

He was growing more frustrated as he failed to rile her up. The trait one reminiscent of his mothers temper when people don’t fall for her charms. “I am not a doll.” Like a meak pathetic child she finally whispers out.

“You are! You’d do anything you’re ordered to don’t you? You’d kill yourself if grandfather told you too, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course. It’s my job to follow orders. However, it is not in my intention to die in such a manner.”

Damian was annoyed at the girl who spoke in front of him. Her cold eyes looked back at him, yet she still refused to face him. Y/n was almost lifeless, a broken record that can only play a certain tune if any. It aggravated many of her superiors when they seen how docile and pathetic she was outside of the battlefield.

“Not your intention? You belong to the League of Assassins you cannot have an intended way to die. If you die at least you die with some dignity, why did you even choose to be here if you’re so pathetic. You’re a disgrace to my families legacy and name.” Damian grew more annoyed at her by the second. Nothing seemed to phase her. How could someone like her even guard him.

Yet she retained her composure. One thing she swore not to lose to the world, was her temper. As long as she had control over it she would never lash out. Not on the battlefield, not at her superiors, not at her subordinates, never. A final form of retaliation. “I did not choose this life, Master Damian.”

When she fully turns around to face him Damian ceases his anger. She wasn’t a born killer that wanted to climb the ranks, she was a teenage girl that had no choice. The ground trembles above them alerting them of oncoming assailants. Y/n moves to barricade the door quickly and effortlessly. “What do you mean you didn’t choose this life? How could you be MY knight if you didn’t even want to be here in the first place?”

She never did know much about her mother. Nyssa had spoke very seldom of her, and it was obvious neither sister held her in high regard. “My mother was apart of the League. Our mothers were friends in fact. However, my mother fell in love with a man who wanted nothing to do with her. Nor the life she harbored inside of her. In a weak attempt to leave the League she offered me as her replacement. You were just born, so she thought it would be fitting. Talia accepted, but she was killed not long after.” Y/n states with no empathy for her birth giver.

To her, the woman was crass and idiotic. How could any woman, let alone one trained under Ra’s Al Ghul, be so foolish. “Your mother was an assassin?” Damian whispered to her as the room started to shake more. The sound of shooting and shouting filled the room.

“Talia held her in high regard, however she was still an incompetent woman. And here I am making up for her mistakes. Pathetic.” It was one thing she’d learn in time to get over, yet it was like the wound stayed fresh.

Damian remains still. “Well, life is unfair. Kill your self or get over it.” The boy instinctively pulls out his sword when the attackers get closer. Soon they’d be discovered and y/n would he put through the ringer if she failed her duty. She ignores the boy and stands at the ready. She’d be damned if some temperamental brat got the better of her.

The door bursts open and five large men, almost twice her size enter. They take quick notice of Damian and rush to apprehend him. Y/n bounds forward with her blade and precisely kicks two of them back. “Kill the brat and get the kid.”

One goes to grab her when she flips over his grasp, her blade follows her path and slices upwards cutting upwards on the attackers face and jugular. She lands crouched and quickly dashes at the second man. He pulls out his gun to shoot her when she ducks and kicks the gun upwards. In his surprise y/n takes her advantage and slashes at his chest.

Damian is backed into a corner when she becomes aware of him again. He pushes forward with his katana, but it’s basically for nothing when y/n uses her tactical rope to wrap around the main guys neck. She yanks it back with a satisfying crunch as it clamps down on his trachea and he’s pulled back into her awaiting foot that just finishes him off. “Don’t go near him.” She musters up whatever emotion she has, sounding colder than ever.

One man turns around and spits on the ground, he was fully prepared to beat the sixteen year old into the ground. “Zip it pipsqueak.” He moves towards her while she lunges. Her blade is deflected by the brass knuckles on his fists. She tries to dodge his right hook, but it was near impossible in midair. His punch lands clean on her side cracking ribs and sending her straight into the brick wall.

She looks up through blurred vision. What kind of steroids were the thugs on? It had to be top of the line to best her reflexes and break bone without much effort. Damian looks over to the girl and can't help but feel guilty. She was putting her life on the line for him. Even if it was the way of the League, she wanted to part of it. Yet, she did her job anyways. And here she was about to die for the sake of his protection. She was just like him. A terrified teenager who's in way over their head. Not that he'd ever admit the anxiety that his role in the League gave him.

Damian readjusts his grip on his sword and charges full force at the second to last assailant. With his guard lowered for a second he is granted a small window of opportunity to land an attack that can actually do something. For some reason he truly did care what the girl thought of him. And the last thing he wanted was for her to see him as a weakling that would need protection. Despite her role, what kind of man would he be. He raises his sword over his head and brings it down to slice the man's extended fist. It was his only available target.

The bloody mess barely phased the thug. He turns towards Damian with anger written across his face. "What are you doing?! You're ruining my plan!" Y/n jumps back into action ignoring the excruciating pain that erupts through her chest with every breath. In the blink of an eye she kicks back one attacker and throws knives at the other to force him towards the wall.

"And what exactly is this plan of yours?"

Y/n rearms herself with her katana and gets into a defensive stance in front of Damian. "My plan is to beat these guys and die in the process. They seem worthy enough to kill me once this is over. Now, don't make me say it again. And don't get in my way. This is the will of life, the world. It is my destined fate." His throat drops to his stomach watching the girl talk so blatantly about throwing her life away like a piece of garbage. She was assigning herself a suicide mission! What kind of woman.

He gets interrupted in his thoughts when the closest man pulls out his gun. He starts to open fire making her maneuver rather uncomfortably. She evades and tries to get close enough to strike. It leaves Damian to block the bullets as best he can with his sword, a very difficult feat even for him.

As she lines up her attack her hair gets yanked back. "Quit being such a god damned nuisance would ya. This brat ain't worth the trouble you're going through to protect him. So do us all a favor and just give up princess." It was like fire burned through her veins as her face scrunched up in anger. She was not going to be captured and belittled by such a primitive man.

Adrenaline pushes her forward as she tosses swings her body forward and kicks the gun from the first attackers hand right from underneath his grip. She aimed her kick to send the weapon back into the hands of Damian. He catches it carefully before cocking the loaded gun. "Aim for the trachea!"

He does just as she says and takes down one man leaving only the one currently restraining her. Taking notice of the odds he quickly moves the girl in front of his body to shield himself as well as yanks the blade out of her hands. He holds the sharpened metal up to her throat right underneath her chin. "Shoot and she's dead. One shot won't do much damage anyways."

Damian stands still. He was at a crossroads. How could he justify any of his actions moving forward. Would he carelessly discard the life of the only person willing to protect and fight along side him just for the protection of his own? How could he. "Damian, Damian! Listen to me!" Her voice breaks his train of thought. She was still calm, almost like a robot only raising her voice to get through to him. "Aim for the cardiovascular muscle."

"What?! Are you crazy! How could you tell me to do that?"

She simply looks at him with a contented smile. "Shoot and you make it out with your life. It is as you said before, I am a doll. Never truly being alive. I only lived to serve, and this is my final service to you, Master Damian." The man glares at Damian and begins to bring the blade closer to her skin beginning to draw blood. Her breath hitches for just a moment while blood begins to trickle down.

"You aren't a doll! You're not a robot either! I'm sorry! You've done so much I cannot ask you to do this."

"But if I don't, I'll be killed anyways. Please Master Damian, allow me this luxury. A final rebellion against the cruel world I was born into. Allow me to be killed by the only person I've been able to trust."

Damian was confused. "What do you mean?"

She smiles, a rare sight. "We grew up together Dami. Now do me that favor owed, and pull the trigger." The oaf finally catches on to their plan. Before he can kill her the shot rings out going through her chest and into his. Damian's brain was running laps as everything fell into place. He rushes to catch her body before it hits the ground.

Memories invade his senses as his childhood unfolds before him all over again. She was raised with him. They were friends, although he never heard her speak. Damian remains stoic while he watches the life fade from her eyes. Blood covered his body as she bled out. The adrenaline that helped her pain had subsided. So she would die a painful, yet quick death.

"I'm sorry." Damian rasps out in fear of his voice breaking. Her eyes were unfocused, but she still responded. A simple smile and nod were all he was given before she started to choke on her blood. All of her wounds were catching up to her.

It was a long time before his mother and aunt found him. And there he sat still cradling the girls body as if she hadn't been long dead and all proof of life had been eradicated from her body. Talia rushes for her son and glances down at what was once his knight. "Such a pitiful girl, she couldn't even protect her own life. Damian. Are you okay?" She cradles her sons face.

Nyssa ignores her relatives and grabs the girls corpse from Damian's arms despite his slight resistance. "I'm fine mother." Damian whispers while he watches his aunt. She carefully sits down on the bloodied floor and lays y/n on the ground. Nyssa tenderly brushes the hair out of the young girls face and closes her eyes. Her compassion could easily be mistaken for motherly. And in some ways it was.

"She told me to kill her. That it was the only way to make sure I live. She sacrificed herself for me." Damian would never cry, but he desperately wanted too.

"That was her job son. Don't feel pity for her when it was the only reason we kept her around. If she was any better at fighting it would have never even came to that." Talia speaks with distaste towards the girl. Nyssa holds her tongue.

"That isn't fair mother! She never wanted this! I didn't want to let her die! There has to be something we can do! Anything! Aunt Nyssa please!" Damian begins to plead like a child.

His mother was growing annoyed. "And what would you suggest we do Damian? Use a Lazarus Pit just for her? A pitiful solider? That's laughable. I do not want to hear any of it Damian. I don't care what she told you, she owed her life to the League of Assassins and she gave her life protecting its heir. So drop it."

Nyssa stays as Talia drags Damian out of the desolated room leaving the woman alone with her child.

[hush-writes-preg]

Oh daddy please tell me how you’d breed my boy hole. Tell me how beautiful I look, heavy and pregnant with your baby that you put in my womb~ how pretty I look waddling around the house. I used to be such a powerful mercenary, skilled with a sword, reduced to being a mindless, breeding slut for you

TW: dubcon, drugs, magical coercion

I was a sorcerer, someone that your kind always looked down on as weak and 'squishy'. You were a big, strapping mercenary, one of the best of your guild, and entirely unimpressed by me, my tower, and the mundane duties I assigned you to after you accepted my contract.

But you greedily took my coin over the first few weeks anyway, didn't you? Just as greedily as you gulped down my wine when you thought I wasn't looking?

It wasn't my fault that you were too stupid to realize the difference between a decanter and a potion bottle, that you drank up the elixir I'd painstakingly crafted to help a client breed his reluctant spouse. Sure, it wasn't very prudent of me to place them both on the same table, but I certainly didn't force it down your throat.

I didn't realize what you'd done until I came into the room afterward and found you slumped to the floor, one hand furiously stroking your dick while the other plunged the glass bottle stopper in and out of your greedy hole. You barely even noticed me, so caught up in trying to get off that everything around had you disappeared.

The problem was, the effects of the elixir couldn't be eased by your own hand. But you didn't know that.

So I sat down to watch you dissolve into a whimpering puddle of lust. The minutes passed as you grew more frantic, the heat building within you leaving you growing more and more desperate until you were practically sobbing with the need to come. A big, strong man, becoming a complete slave to his desires.

I probably left you there longer than was prudent, especially since the elixir turned out to be a bit stronger than I'd have intended, but that's what you got for being a thief. My delayed reaction broke something in you that day, for by the time I took pity on you and fucked you like a peasant right in the middle of my drawing room rug, that haughty gleam in your eye had entirely vanished. No more were you the pride of the Fighter's Guild, but a hopeless cockslut.

So yes, I took my recompense from your elixir-drunk body. Yes, I spilled my seed into your well-fucked hole. And when I realized that the effects of the elixir weren't fading and that you'd been reduced to a docile, desire-addled fuckdoll, I didn't bother stopping.

That's why you're still in my tower almost eight months later, your guild contract canceled, your sword and armor stashed in some closet, and your belly massively swollen with my offspring. You waddle after me like a puppy, always eager to spread your legs when the mood strikes, and it strikes often. No longer am I 'that annoying sorcerer'; now you call me 'Daddy' like a two-copper trollop.

You've become such a pretty thing. So much more beautiful and tolerable to be around than the man who'd shown up at my doorstep all those months ago. All of the harsh lines of your form have softened with your pregnancy, your body clad in a few gauzy silks that leave little to the imagination, solely for my own pleasure.

I never expected to want a pet, but the sight of you so heavy with my child has changed something in me, too. I'm going to keep my little mercenary's womb nice and full from here on out, and I know you won't have any complaints.

[inkesmind]

genos with a pregnant s/o headcanons!

reader: afab (assigned female at birth)

requested: yes by anonymous

warnings + genre: fluff

a/n: me listening to baby making jams while making this LMAO

✎ | the moment the words fell from your lips that you were pregnant, genos almost literally malfunctioned.

“you’re pregnant? as in, there’s a child in your womb?” he asked dumbfoundedly

✎ | you replied nod with a smile on your face.

✎ | genos is definitely excited, but it may not look like it at times. most of the time, he’s freaking out, bombarding himself with questions like:

“would i really be a great father?”

“what if my child doesn’t like me?”

✎ | please assure him he’s going to be just fine especially because both of you are working together

✎ | one of the first thing he does is tell saitama about your new child, but makes sure that the news doesn’t get out. if anyone has to know, it’s going to be saitama and no one else.

✎ | he knew being a hero came with a heavy burden, so he wanted to make sure you and your unborn child were as safe as possible

✎ | genos is extremely caring and helpful during your pregnancy, stopping at nothing to make sure your pregnancy goes smoothly.

✎ | having weird pregnancy cravings in the middle of the night? genos will literally whip it up in the kitchen or grab what you need from the corner store

✎ | having body aches and need a massage? he’s on it! genos buys all your favorite ointments and gives the the best massages you’ve ever had.

✎ | he takes you on the most relaxing walks; they’re always like mini dates

✎ | genos definitely asks saitama about being father, despite saitama not having his own child, he thinks his teacher knows everything

✎ | also asks dr. kuseno about it too!

✎ | but in his alone time, genos takes the times to buy and read different books on pregnancy and being a parent, reading articles and blogs online, and confiding in you about his doubts

✎ | the day you asked if he wants feel your growing belly, he froze. he was a bit confused on what to do but did i regardless

“genos, the baby’s kicking! come here and feel it!” you beamed. genos turned towards you and slowly walked towards you. “don’t be scared, just put your hands on my stomach.” you smiled giving genos a sense of relief.

he bent down near the edge of the couch you were sitting on and gently placed his cold metal hands on your exposed belly. just slightly, he could feel the light kicks from your child. genos had never looked so soft.

✎ | in all honesty idk if genos can still feel with his hands

✎ | regardless, feeling his child kicking only fulfilled his fantasy of finally having a family of his own

✎ | the closer your due date came, the more stressed genos got. he was finally going to be able to see his first born child

✎ | shopping for baby outfits and furniture for the nursery with you definitely helped soothe his mind

✎ | genos prepared himself as much as he could before you went into labor, but nothing could prepare him for the birth of his child

✎ | the time from when your water broke to him squeezing your hand while on the hospital bed was a blur for him. it all happened so fast

✎ | genos was nonetheless supportive through it all though. he might’ve even been more anxious than you, but made sure not to let it get to him as it was a precious moment for all of you

✎ | he squeezed your hand while you giving birth, trying his best to find the right words to say to you. it was hard, but he knew more than anything that you needed him the most right now

✎ | the moment he laid his eyes on his crying child, genos had many indescribable feelings. all he knew was that he felt instant happiness.

✎ | was definitely worried about holding his child for the first time. they were so small and fragile, he didn’t want to accidentally hurt them.

✎ | you were just as blissed out as he was and reassured him that nothing he would do would hurt his child. his nerves calmed from your kind words and decided to hold his child.

✎ | you held your child in your arms while genos calmed himself down. you looked over to him before gently handing over your child to him

✎ | you could tell genos was already in love with your new born child with the way he held them. his touch was extremely delicate. but nothing could prepare him for this, nothing at all.

✎ | you watched in silence with a smile on your face as tears fell down genos face.

[tainted-wine]

Subject: RAPTOR

Nomu!Hawks x Reader (NSFW)

This GIANT is the lovechild of this amazing fanart and this ask:

I twisted the shizznit out of that ask, but the inspiration is still there. A thank you to anyone who makes it through this very long ride.

This fic does takes some liberties in the creation of nomu. Some factors will deviate from canon.

Words: 20k+

You can also read this long-ass story on AO3 if that’s more comfortable.

Heed these warnings: Blood and Death, Teratophilia/Monster-Fucking, Breeding, Mutant Genitalia, Unethical Experimentation, Mutilation, lots of handjobs and cum, LOTS of long tongue action and I’m ashamed, Brief Suicide Ideation, and Shitty Science

——–x——–

Fertile nomu were the greatest breakthrough that the villains could ever hope for. Breeding saves so much time and resources, as opposed to artificially creating each specimen from scratch. There were two major “programs”, as these sick bastards insist on calling them. 

The Mating Program, where the nomu were paired together, one with male sexual organs and the other with those of a female, though there was also the occasional subject that managed to possess both. It was an unpredictable process; miscarriages were common, sometimes the offspring dies minutes after birth, or the fetus develops too rapidly inside the womb and the birth becomes a violent bursting out of the parent’s body. Weaker nomu, usually the ones incapable of rapid regeneration, have been killed from such incidents. “What a waste,” those bastards in lab coats would say.

And then there was the Milking Program, in which semen was collected to later be frozen or artificially inserted into ‘other creatures’. Yeah, they say it as if ninety percent of those creatures weren’t humans.

You were an unwilling member of the latter program, but the assholes sure did love making it sound like they were doing you a favor.

“This entire precinct is yours,” they said. “Your very own farm of all-powerful beasts!”

Gee, thanks. Just what you always wanted, to jerk off abominations and collect their cum. To be fair, it could be worse. At least you weren’t one of the unlucky ones being impregnated. Your possession of a quirk, albeit a mostly useless one, probably saved you from that fate. Those without a quirk had a higher chance of passing down all of the Nomu’s abilities. Just another addition to the long list of Why Being Quirkless Fucking Sucks.

The weaker and simpler nomu aren’t an issue. A sort of imprinting drives them to obey your every command. Hell, jerking them off isn’t even needed — you can literally just order them to ejaculate, and the damn things are spewing out their putrid seed before you can even prepare your containers.

The most troublesome part of your “job” was the High Ends. They are powerful, sentient, and God help you, have an actual sex drive. They were obedient to an extent, but you can’t hold complete control over something that was specifically designed for independent thinking. You were responsible for only five of these advanced nomu, and that was too many. The touchy bastards always wanted more than just a handjob, vocalizing their lust through distorted throats. The long, beastly groans of “inside” and “give pussy” echoed in your head throughout the day and into the night.

These things can literally pound you into mush, and the very thought of carrying their horrifying children makes your throat burn with rising bile. You don’t believe it’s worth risking your life just to please their monster dicks.

That was all before they introduced you to a new ‘pet’. You stood in the hallway of your assigned area of the old hospital and watched two approaching figures. Ugh, another damn High End to make things more difficult, but this one made your heart skip a beat. 

Most of the creature’s body was a solid black, just like the rest within its tier. It was more slender than the others, upper body leaning forward with the support of long legs with joints that reminded you of a bird. Both its hands and feet were covered in scales and ended in large talons. A grand pair of ebony wings were folded behind its back, and a muscular feathered tail swayed with its movements. Overall, its appearance was a mixture of avian and reptilian.

The feathery wings were a huge hint, but absolute certainty struck you when you made eye contact, gold-filled eyes with a bird-like slant on a face that still managed to stay youthful after so many alterations to its body. You listened in on the villains’ conversations whenever they were around. With no access to any kind of media in this place, it was the only way to stay up-to-date with everything happening outside of these cursed labs. You remember hearing about their latest victory, how they managed to overpower and kill the number two hero of Japan, dreadful news that you refused to believe. But the beast that was eyeing you curiously gave you no choice but to accept the truth.

Hawks has become their newest nomu.

The doctor accompanying him smiled proudly, commanding the monster to take your side. You gulped and tried not to flinch in his presence; you were always extra tense around new additions that didn’t know you yet. “Hawks is dead,” the doctor said calmly. “Say hello to our latest work: Raptor.”

You think you’d rather stick with ‘Hawks’. The doctor doesn’t wait for a response before continuing. “We expect samples from this one daily.”

The shocking demand has you speaking before you can stop yourself. “Why?”

The man’s impassive eyes darkened and you shrink back, considering an apology but deciding that it was best to just keep your mouth shut. Prisoners like you followed a set of rules, the most important one being ‘No Questions’. They’ll feed you to the very beasts entrusted in your care without batting an eye.

Lucky for you, this man was willing to give you a pass. “Analysis, fertilization, storage for future plans…many matters that don’t concern you. Expect me every morning to take it in for testing. Until then, get it settled and collect the first sample.”

You shuddered, sneaking a glance at Hawks, who was busy looking up at the occasional flicker of the ceiling light. It was careless to underestimate how observant the High Ends were, but this is the first time you’ve seen one so openly curious. Normally they would just absently stare at nothing when left idle.

Only when the doctor turned to leave did you finally give the newcomer your full attention. “Hawks?”

He continued to watch the blinking bulbs with great interest.

“Um…Raptor?”

You nearly jumped from how quickly his entire body turned toward you, completely still and waiting for whatever instructions came next.

You scratched at your head nervously. “Right, I guess that really is your name now. Well, come with me.”

He followed you down the old hall and past the rooms where others of his kind rested, talons tapping against the tiles with each step.

 x---x---x---x---x 

Raptor’s exposed frontal lobe throbs.

He doesn’t remember anything before his awakening in that cold and wet chamber. Was there anything before? Had he just been born?

Perhaps…but it just didn’t feel right.

x---x---x---x---x

  Like all the other nomu, Hawks’s private space was nothing more than an emptied patient room. Their loyalty was the only thing keeping them from breaking down the old doors or tearing through the worn walls. Every minute spent alone with these superhumans was a gamble with your life.

But again, the newcomers make you extra nervous.

You stood at the door while Hawks examined his new home. He sniffed and pawed at every nook and cranny like an animal in unfamiliar surroundings, straightening his flexible spine to touch the ceiling before lowering himself on all fours. He seemed just as comfortable crawling as he was with walking; you can only imagine how incredible his agility has become. The beloved wing hero was best known for his swiftness in defeating and subduing villains, and it looks like the mad scientists sought to maximize his talents. The average nomu was built to be an indestructible powerhouse. Hawks was built to be an even more efficient predator than he already was.

As much as you didn’t want to interrupt him, you had a job to do. “Raptor…”

His head whipped around to pin you with a sharp stare, molten yellow slits revealing the red irises that only appear when focused. You tensed, but he made no further movements.

You cleared your throat and took a deep breath. Nomu respond best to a confident and assertive voice. “Just relax and stay still. It’s time for me to collect some sperm, if you even know what that means.” You grab the jar that you had already prepared in the corner.

He shook his wings and soft mane of hair, leaving his head a poofy mess. Well that was…cute. You approached him before setting the container back down and reaching for the pathetic rags they called shorts. It’s beyond ridiculous how these sadistic doctors are willing to completely violate and alter a person’s corpse, yet they force the abominations to keep their junk covered as some form of decency.

A low rumble vibrated from his chest as you dropped to your knees and pulled down his only article of clothing, allowing the not quite human-looking cock to spring free — a thick base with a curved shaft decorated with scale-like ridges on the top and bottom, then tapering to an arrow-like head, twitching and growing each second. You’ve seen stranger dicks, but it still catches you by surprise. Was Hawks’s dick always like this?

Is that a distasteful question? He is technically dead.

The moment your hand made contact, a loud hiss rushed past his teeth and he stepped back, wings flapping as he backed away until he hit the wall.

“Calm down.” His reaction startled you, but your voice remained steady. He wasn’t showing any signs of aggression, his widened eyes and timid posture gave the impression that he was just caught off-guard. “Calm,” you repeated more softly.

A few seconds pass while his breaths slow and he stands straight again to give you access to his fully hardened cock.

You try to move more slowly, at first running just your fingertips along his length to ease him into the feeling. You smiled at the sight of his face relaxing; he was surprisingly expressive. “See? It’s not so bad, is it?”

His mouth opened to give you a glimpse of sharp teeth that could easily shred your flesh, but the only sounds that come out are several choked peeps. He winces and brings a clawed hand to his throat.

“Can’t talk yet, huh? Don’t worry, it usually takes a few days for you guys.” You closed your fingers around his shaft in a firm grip and began to stroke him.

The soft purrs must mean that he has fully given in. He thankfully hasn’t made any grabs at you yet; only staring down and watching you explore every inch of his pitch-black meat, taking his leaking pre-cum and smearing it all over for lubrication.

His wings shiver and his tail begins to swing wildly—you flinch at each loud thud whenever the powerful limb whacks the wall or slams into the floor. You briefly wonder if the feathers on his tail are capable of becoming sharp blades like the ones on his wings.

The purrs become low growls as he begins to bend over your kneeling form, muscular thighs quivering around you. His cock was twitching under your quickening pace, notifying you that it was time to grab the jar and get ready. “No need to hold back. Go ahead and cum.”

He obeyed with a high screech and two sets of talons seized your shoulders, tearing through cloth and digging into your skin. You yelped, but didn’t halt your milking of his cock, ensuring each spurt of cum landed inside the container. Blood can be felt trickling down your arms, his grip on the verge of crushing bone until he finally lets go after his final spasm. You release the breath you didn’t even know you were holding as you sealed the jar and stood up. “Good, now rest,” you said through clenched teeth and turned to leave.

A distorted chirp is heard behind you; you twisted your head to see Hawks rushing forward, and your heart jumps into your throat. Fuck, what did you do? Did turning your back excite him? Running wasn’t a smart option at this point. You held the fresh warm sample close to you as you shut your eyes and braced for whatever the nomu had planned.

But when he was close enough for you to feel his hot breath against your back, nothing happened. Then there were fingers, the same fingers that pierced your flesh with their hooked claws, lightly tracing over the bleeding wounds. It was a touch that was way too gentle for a monster created to kill.

You heard the choked sounds again, and you take a look at his face as he strains to form a word, eventually giving up and mouthing it instead. What you read from his lips was something that hasn’t been said to you during your entire time in this hellish hospital.

‘Sorry.’

He retreats to a corner and curls up his entire body like an animal sleeping in the cold.

You felt like the one unable to speak now, mouth opening and closing in search of a response. Eventually you were able to collect yourself. “It’s alright…I guess. Not the first time one of you has handled me roughly. First time one of you showed any regret, though…it’s honestly really freaking me out.” You giggle uncomfortably and decide that you need to hurry up and treat yourself before the scratches get infected. “Rest,” you make sure to command before rushing out of the door.

The restroom held a shabby but functional shower that will rid you of the blood, and the workers were at least generous enough to give you the bare minimum of first-aid along with extra gowns. A couple excruciating dabs of alcohol on the open wounds should clean them up just fine.

You’ll have to think about Hawks’s odd behavior later. You still had other nomu to tend to.

 x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

Field Test

Quirk #1: Fierce Wings

Notes: As the host’s original quirk, we don’t expect Raptor to experience any difficulties with Fierce Wings. It should serve more as a refresher for his memory. With a brain more advanced than any other nomu so far, he should still be quick in attacking and reacting. His slightly enlarged wings will allow for greater endurance during flight, and of course, a bigger arsenal of feathers. The feathers on his tail are also to be tested.

The room that Raptor stood in the center of was filled with targets everywhere—some static, some moving in fixed patterns. The humans in coats were a safe distance away and watching him closely.

“Raptor, strike the targets with your feathers.”

He didn’t even have a chance to see which one gave the order before his body was already reacting. It took only seconds for him to pin the locations and time the movements of each target. In a flash, black sharpened feathers darted in multiple directions and pierced every mark in the room.

He didn’t care about impressing the Coats, but he still released a pleased hum after hearing his entire audience gasp. The whole situation felt familiar for some reason. Completing such a test felt so natural to him, he could probably do it blindfolded.

“Again, but this time use only the feathers from your tail.”

He obeyed. With his body lowered and tail raised, it only took two seconds longer to hit each mark.

Several more tests took place. He chopped objects of different materials and varying thickness, sliced apart a combat robot while using only his tail as a blade, and showed off his speed and aerial maneuvers during a small obstacle course.

His brain pulsed painfully. He doesn’t understand why taking so many commands was such a painful struggle.

He didn’t mind the tests much. At least he can actually do something in these test fields, as opposed to sitting in his empty room all day. After the very pleasant time spent with you, it was nothing but hours of pacing, scratching, and grooming out of boredom.

You mentioned there being others like him in those rooms. How do they handle having absolutely nothing to do for so long?

“Its mind tends to wander, doesn’t it?”

He turns to the source of the voice and finds a pair of Coats that stared at him like they were trying to probe his mind with just their eyes. The rest were scrambling about, discussing the excellence of his performance and scribbling notes.

But these two only seemed interested in watching him get lost in his thoughts. He stared back, waiting to see if they had any commands to give.

One of them only smirked as the loyal creature stood at full attention. “Yes, not very hostile, either. Not only is he capable of higher levels of thinking, he is the first High End that doesn’t host the body of some brutish villain. A more complex mind often comes with very human...quirks.”

Raptor blinks. They really enjoyed saying that particular word.

x---x---x---x---x

When you stepped into Hawks’s room for the second morning, you were ready to step right back out when you saw the state of it.

Claw marks everywhere, covering the walls and floor like webs embedded in the surface. Hawks was looking at you closely while stooped low to the floor, but his body appeared relaxed and not ready to lunge.

Not a single hair on you moved when you spoke. “Are you alright?”

He tilted his head at the question, releasing a puff of air through his nostrils before returning to whatever he was trying to do to the floor. He wasn’t violent with his movements. The talons scraped across wide curves, long lines, other patterns with seemingly no goal in mind. Looking around at the other claw marks, you realize that none of them are the angry slashes of a beast throwing a fit. They all looked to have been drawn in a calm matter, twisting and turning into random non-specific shapes.

“Raptor, are you…bored?”

He paused his carving to look at you again and releases a long and drawn-out groan, throat vibrating along with the vocals. Was that a whine?

All of the High Ends had traces of their original personality, but this was on another level. It wasn’t unwelcomed, however. “You know, when the other High Ends don’t have anything to do, they kinda just…I don’t know, it’s like they put their brains on a power-saver mode. You can’t do that?”

His brain responds with several strong pulses. Gross, you’re never going to get used to that pink-gray matter moving around. After what was apparently deep thought, Hawks gave a softer groan and shook his head.

You couldn’t help but laugh humorlessly at this entire situation. “Incredible. You’d think that these smartasses would know that making a creature of extraordinary intelligence—I bet that’s what they said—would mean that your big gross brain needs regular stimulation. Geniuses, my ass.”

Hawks gave a beastly snort. Seems like he agrees with you. You don’t mean to sound like those insane bastards, but it truly was incredible to see a High End that showed interest in casual conversation, not just commands or any opportunity to cause destruction.

Feeling confident that he won’t maul you out of boredom, you finally approach and kneel in front of him. “Sorry, there’s not much I can do about that,” you said with genuine sympathy. “Not like I have any entertainment of my own. My room sucks too. But—“ You held up your fresh new jar. “Maybe we can kill some time together again? God, that makes me sound like a sex worker for you guys.”

You don’t know if he has a sense of humor, but he clearly understands your hints and perks up. He stands so that your face is leveled with his groin, black scaly hands tugging at his shorts until a loud rip causes him to grunt in frustration. You giggle and decide to help tear the rest off. “They were just shitty rags, anyway,” you said.

He was already growing right in front of you. Your hand wraps around him for a second time, thankful that it doesn’t startle him again. He tenses for only a moment, but quickly relaxes when your stroking begins, a large pair of testes swinging freely now that there was no cloth to contain them.

“Wow,” you couldn’t help but gasp. “You’re not even built as big as the other nomu, but those are still impressive. I guess you’ve got plenty of samples to give, huh? Good, ‘cause I’ve gotta do this every damn day.”

You received a purr and a swish of his tail in response. It was a one-sided conversation, but it was still pretty refreshing. Milking the other High Ends was an uncomfortable task, one where you always had to be prepared with a loud and strong “No” or “Stop” whenever their excitement evolved into aggression. Every minute was tense, and despite your occasional wish for release from this shitty life, you didn’t want a violent end at the hands of these sex-hungry monstrosities.

His reactions weren’t too different from yesterday; he was being more vocal and less shy about physically expressing his pleasure. The massive black wings blew your hair back with each powerful beat, and his tail was thrashing about even more wildly.

His deep purrs weren’t unpleasant, slowly changing into higher mewls as he got closer. “Come on, just do what you did last time.”

And so he did, delivering another fresh sample straight into your container with a warped cry. His hands lingered right over you, clenched in tight fists that surely had those sharp talons digging into his rough palms. You couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if he was trying not to grab you this time. Would he really care about that without being told?

Hot, tired breaths blew into your hair as he recovered from his climax. Then, with his head reared back, he let out a yawn. You even heard a faint little whine similar to a dog escape him. It would have been pretty endearing if it weren’t for just how widely his mouth was opened, displaying the scary set of teeth within. Does he really use those in combat?

With his still-dripping member going flaccid, he returned to the spot he was scratching at, lazily tracing the markings that were already made. The thought of him doing this for another ten hours or so made you frown. They probably wouldn’t care if you stayed in this room a little longer than usual, would they?

Shrugging, you kneeled down again, this time resting beside him. Hawks stopped and looked at you curiously.

“Sharpen one of your feathers and give it to me,” you ordered.

Almost immediately a feather appears right in front of you. You grab it, taking care not to cut your fingers on the razor-like barbs. When’s the last time you’ve held a writing utensil? Shifting awkwardly next to the large nomu, you took the quill and began scratching lines into the floor. The hot heavy breaths and overall warmth from his close presence was hard to ignore. You’ve never been this close to a nomu for any reason that wasn’t jerking them off. He remained calm, watching your hand closely until you finished drawing a small grid.

“You know how to play tic tac toe?”

He blinked.

“…Okay, it’s pretty simple. You fill a space with either an ‘O’ or an ‘X’…”

Somehow, teaching a killer monster how to play a common children’s game was weirder than making him jizz. He caught on quickly, favoring X’s. You were winning each game at first, but once he figured out all of the possible patterns, every game was ending in a draw. You drew larger grids, sometimes having both of you move to a different spot for more room. Most matches were still draws, but he will sometimes catch you by surprise and scratch a row of three X’s that you didn’t notice in time, his tail swishing out of what may have been pride or enjoyment.

After a while you decided to show him other shapes. Maybe he can experiment with them more when you were gone. Who knows, soon he might be drawing more than random lines. He wasn’t bad company, to be honest. Then again, your standards have taken a nosedive ever since you winded up in this facility of unethical science. It was nice to spend time with anything that didn’t want to just tear you in half with a massive cock.

Only when you felt like you overstayed your welcome and stood back up did you realize how much of a mess you both made of the floor and walls.

“Oops, it looks like a bunch of kids got in here,” you said while looking at the collage of shapes and lines. Hopefully the doctors won’t find this too strange; he was pretty intelligent, after all. “Well, it’s about time I take my leave. You keep practicing your doodling skills, I guess.” With the jar of white fluid back in your arms, you headed on out, but a large hand grabs onto your arm.

Hawks’s yellow eyes were wider than usual, a scraping, guttural noise leaving his throat as he toyed with his voice.

“Sss…..aaayy…” Just like the other High Ends, his vocals were warped and all-around unsettling, but you could hear it, traces of the playful and smooth-talking hero that you used to watch during interviews and talk shows. It was barely there, but it was still there.

“St…aay.”

You couldn’t help the sad smile that graced your face. He was looking at you like a puppy. “Sorry, but I don’t know what they’d do if they notice me staying here for too long,” you explained.

He winced from the strain of his vocal chords. “Come…back?”

You shook your head. “There are cameras in the halls. I shouldn’t be going in and out of your room.” You tensed under his grip, afraid that refusing him like this will anger him. He has been very docile so far, but you don’t know what it takes to set him off.

Thankfully, he lets go of you and backs away with another one of those whines. For God’s sake, were you really feeling bad about leaving one of these...things?

To be fair, in the two days you’ve known him, Hawks was already much different from the others. Hell, he hasn’t even shown any true signs of aggression yet. The other High Ends are always expressing some desire to attack or break something. You thought it came naturally with all of the engineering. For something that was apparently supposed to be their finest specimen yet, Hawks’s behavior wasn’t fitting for his job at all. You just played tic tac fucking toe with him like two kids on a sidewalk.

That’s probably why you found yourself trying to reassure him. “We can play some more tomorrow. Don’t worry.”

An odd clicking noise was made—he sure had a variety of sounds reminiscent of birds—and he returned to his favorite corner, hooking his talons into an empty spot on the wall to begin yet another drawing.

The slightest hint of warmth could be felt in your chest as you left him to his creative tasks. This place sucks and has deprived you of everything good in life for…you’ve lost track of how long. You’ll take whatever you can get to make things more bearable around here.

And if that ‘whatever’ turns out to be a former top hero who was killed and resurrected into a horrid experiment, then so be it.

x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

Field Test

Quirk #2: Reptile

Notes: The Reptile quirk will make for a great upgrade to Raptor’s physical capabilities. He may possess wings, but the ability to climb almost any surface will be helpful in enclosed areas and improve his overall performances in stealth. A flexible spine allows him to comfortably be both bipedal and quadrupedal, the digitigrade legs granting him greater speed and jumps.

Also, someone needs to send in a request for a new pair of shorts for the damned thing.

There were many more instructions to follow this time. The Coats were bombarding him with one command after another.

“Climb up here.”

“Slash this with your talons.”

“Crush this with your hands. Try again with your feet.”

His head throbbed painfully as the voices took hold of his movements. They pushed his endurance to the limit when they made him run on a machine, first on his legs, then again on all fours. He was only running in place, but it was much more satisfying than pacing back and forth in that boring room.

It turns out that he can scale walls and ceilings with little effort thanks to the pads on his hands and feet. Maybe he can try drawing on the ceiling when he returns to his room. The only downside was that you wouldn’t be able to sit up there with him.

The Coats observed behind the (assumed) safety of a wall of thick glass. Each one possessed a small microphone so that their voice can still be heard clearly through the speaker on his side of the room.

They always watched him with cold and calculating eyes, and only spoke to him when telling him to do something. You feared him; his feathers easily sensed your tension, unsteady breaths, and quickening heartbeats, yet you still took the time to be friendly. And what you do with those hands…he wishes you’d make him feel that good all day. Yes, his room was small and boring, but it did have you.

“Raptor, to the opposite end of the room,” a Coat ordered. The sensation of being pulled by his entire head forced him to take his place at the wall, staring straight ahead at the door.

His wings twitched from a powerful approaching presence, feathers instinctively sharpening at the possible incoming threat. The door was opened by a small Coat to make way for a beast, a beast with a large powerful form and exposed brain just like him.

Vacant eyes stared straight ahead, looking right through him like it was dead on its feet.

“This is one of Cloner’s spawn, yes?” A female Coat spoke with her mouth close to the mic. He supposes that they don’t care if he hears them.

“Yes. His offspring always turn out even more unstable than him. This one can’t even produce a single proper clone, and no additional quirks were inherited. It’s useless.”

“Well, at least it’ll help us in its final moments.” The man leaned into his mic. “Raptor, kill the nomu. Do not use your wings.”

The woman followed up with her own order. “Nomu, kill Raptor.”

Blood was suddenly rushing through his body twice as fast, the reds of his eyes appearing and locking onto the target that was already charging at him with a horrifying wail.

Kill it.

He ducked under the bigger creature’s closing arms that would have likely trapped him into a crushing hug, causing his opponent to lose balance and fall forward. His hand shot up and dug his talons into thick flesh, slicing it from its chest all the way down to its stomach as he ran beneath. Rising from under the nomu’s legs, he turned to see his gruesome work.

Instead, he sees the blur of a fist right before it smashes into his face and sends him flying. His back colliding hard with the wall accompanied the shattering of his jaw. There was no time to wait for his vision to clear up, scrambling out of the path of the charging silhouette before it slams into the now-empty spot, the impact shaking the entire room.

The pain only intensified when his face and spine began to shift, mending itself back together while he tried his hardest to keep his eye on the much more violent beast. A ghoulish moan was heard as it straightened itself, and Raptor could see the large gash that should have easily disemboweled it already closing up.

Ah, so they can both heal.

It was already charging straight at him again. The thing was fast and powerful, but it was acting like it had a one-track mind, sticking to a simple strategy of running towards him and dealing whatever damage it could.

His wings twitched, but there was a barrier in his mind preventing them from moving. Damned Coats.

The fight became a game of evasion, darting and dashing around the bigger and stronger nomu’s swings and countering with deep slashes. Wearing it down was impossible with such rapid healing, every cut he brought upon its skin was quickly sewn shut.

His only chance was to attack its brain, but the nomu had enough sense to protect its one true vulnerable spot, nearly crushing Raptor’s arm into paste after an attempt to sink his talons into the soft matter.

So he kept dodging, and dodging, until something inside the creature just...snapped. Perhaps it was out of frustration in failing to land any hits, but its haunting moans and wails soon became full on screams. Tightly clenched fists pounded into the floor, the stone floor crumbling under the sudden tantrum. Raptor stood and watched, wings tensing from the burst of tortured emotions.

“Hm, you weren’t exaggerating about the meltdowns,” he heard one of the Coats say, her voice as dull as ever.

“What an embarrassment. Damn thing can’t even carry out a simple fight.”

Raptor looked behind the glass of spectators and saw faces of disappointment.

“A complete waste.”

“Cloner’s children are all wasted potential.”

“What a sad display.”

“Pathetic.”

He looked back at the creature that was now writhing and flailing, its skin oozing a blob that throbbed and squirmed, like it was trying its hardest to take a shape. 

But the bubbly pulses stop and the dripping mass melts into a lifeless puddle. The nomu continues to scream after its failed attempt at using its quirk. Raptor’s gut twists with pity.

A sad display, indeed.

“Raptor! Did you forget your orders? Kill him!” 

The sharp command smothers all feelings of sympathy, and before Raptor knew it, he was running toward the tormented creature, each feather on his tail sharpening with every step. Ducking under a blind swipe, the black spear thrusted forward and pierced its brain with a sickening shlunk.

The thrashing was reduced to short spasms as the nomu choked out its final groans, its terrified eyes glazing over when the last traces of life faded. 

The tail was yanked out and shook off the blood and spongy brain matter to splatter on the ground. Raptor gave a soft whine of distress.

“Well, that was all rather underwhelming.”

“Yep, that didn’t exactly challenge Raptor at all.”

“I’m concerned about his lack of aggression. Did you all see him hesitate?”

“Most likely just confusion and caution after witnessing such a sudden breakdown.”

So many voices, so many comments; Raptor paid no attention to them. His mind was on the corpse that continued to bleed heavily from the large gash in its head. Raptor was the stronger nomu. He won.

Was he supposed to feel proud? Victorious?

“He’s a very smart one. Did you see the markings in his room? He and his harvester have been...bonding.” That voice...Raptor recognized it as the Coat that showed up every morning to retrieve him from his room to enter these test rooms. “I can’t decide if I like the idea of a friendly nomu.”

The woman dismissed his worries. “As long as he knows to kill when he’s told, his behavior shouldn’t matter. But it might benefit us to test his relationship with his owner after we’ve finished observing his quirks.”

His throat vibrates as a low growl passes through.

Raptor doesn’t like it here.

x---x---x---x---x

Maybe it’s just because Friday (you’re pretty sure it’s Friday on your self-made calendar) tends to be your busiest day of the week, or that your wrist is beginning to wear down from the many giant dicks you’ve been stroking. Or maybe it’s just one of those days when you remember just how shitty this life was. Whatever it was, you weren’t in one of your best moods today. 

That’s why you felt just the smallest hint of excitement when you reached Hawks’s door. Yes, it’s weird, but he was the closest thing you had to a companion around here, alright? 

The last thing you expected was to open the door to an empty room, at least it appeared that way until you saw the black creature resting on the ceiling.

“Aah!” You yelp and drop the jar out of fright, causing Hawks to jump from the sudden noise. You curse and quickly pick up the container and scan it for any cracks while he gracefully twists his body to drop on the floor with a thud. He was as graceful as a cat...a cat that can comfortably sit upside down.

Relieved to see the jar in one piece, you turned your attention back to the waiting High End. “I didn’t know you could climb like that.”

His wings fluttered at the comment and he raised his palms right in front of your face. Ah yes, a hand. Very lovely. But looking more closely, you could see a difference in texture on the rounded pads of his fingertips. “Ooh, little sticky hairs, huh?”

He gave a click of what you assumed to be approval, tail swinging behind him.

“So I guess you’re not just born knowing everything your body can do. Sounds troublesome.” There’s something you wanted to do, something you wouldn’t ever consider doing with the other nomu even in your dreams. “May I, uh, touch them?” You held up your own hands innocently.

Hawks cocked his head, a gesture that you’re always going to find kinda cute, before grunting and bringing his larger hands to yours. All ten of your fingers made contact, and the slightest shiver shot down your spine. 

It’s the first time you’ve ever touched one of these monsters outside of jerking them to collect semen. Your curiosity was always there, but the disgust and fear you often felt when in their presence fueled the overpowering desire to hurry up, get the damn job done, and get away from them as quickly as possible.

You never imagined that you’d be standing face to face with a High End, feeling the surprisingly soft pads on his scaly hands, his breaths deep and hot against your face as those red irises watched your expressions. He was still very intimidating with his tall form, glowing glare, and the large imposing pair of wings. But those eyes—they contained too much intelligence and emotion in them.

Too human. It was as uncanny as it was fascinating. 

Only when his eyes close and he begins to croon softly do you realize that one of your hands have moved up to touch his face. The black skin feels extra thick when you gently press his cheek, strong and leathery. He leans in and brings his head closer to give you better access, and you can’t help but reward the reaction with scratches against his jaw and chin.

“You know, you’ve been doing a shitty job of acting like the ultimate killer,” you said when he purrs happily. 

The purr morphs into a disgruntled whine. “Don’t...like.”

Your hand pauses, hoping for him to elaborate as well as he could. “Don’t like…?” You encouraged him.

He was still struggling to work his vocal chords, but at least he seemed to be showing less pain. “Don’t like...k-killiiing.”

What?

“Raptor, that’s...you know...the very thing you were made for, and you don’t like doing it?” Not that you’re complaining about his gentle nature, but hearing a damn nomu say that he dislikes killing might be the most ludicrous thing you’ve heard here, even more so than the first time you were told to make an abomination cum.

His entire body stiffens, and you couldn’t help but tense up as well. “Maaade-” He makes a harsh hacking sound. “-to kill?”

Shit. You panic and attempt to backpedal. “Not to actually kill. You’re supposed to be, you know, the strongest creature that’s capable of killing whenever he wants...if you, uh, wanted to.” Yeah, that sounds good enough.

It appears to do the trick, his body relaxing again. “Don’t like,” he repeated more smoothly this time.

“I know, I know. Killing sucks. Just don’t tell the assholes in labcoats that, alright? Now calm down.” You return to your ministrations, this time using both hands to rub and scratch his face. His eyes drift shut again as your hands trail down to his slightly elongated neck, brushing past his steady pulse.

Reaching his collar and then his chest, you discover that he’s solid muscle everywhere. He may not be on the verge of bursting out of his own skin like the others, but he could no doubt snap you like a twig just as easily. You feel his chest heave from a deep breath, the strength emanating from his body making you shiver. You shush him when he jolts as your hands reach his pronounced abs, pushing against the hard muscle until you finally arrive at his groin.

You snorted at the new pair of shorts. “Another pair, huh? At least these look a little less ragged.”

You pulled his large member out for the third time. Why did you have to do this daily? What could they possibly be doing with so many jars of jizz? Making cakes?

Sighing, you brushed off the soreness of your arm and wrist and began to pump his ridged length. “Just do me a favor and try to cum quickly, alright?” 

He made a rather sad groan at that, curling into himself so that his face was close to yours. His sharp breaths were loud in your ears.

You couldn’t help but smile even through the strain of your muscles. “What, you wanna make this last? Do you know how many dicks I’ve had to tend to today? Cut me some slack, we’re gonna be doing this everyday, anyway.”

Hawks purrs before that monstrous voice shakes your body, his hot breath warming the side of your face and neck. “Feel gooood.”

The primal lust dripping from him triggers a pulse of warmth inside you. You...can’t remember the last time you’ve felt that, and it’s just a tad strange that a nomu caused it. Were you really that starved for attention? “I-” You cleared your throat after an awkward voice crack. “I know, handjobs tend to feel good. But please be a good boy and help me out here.”

He gives a puff that blows your hair back, but he complies. The big sweaty face that buries itself in your neck is so distracting that you almost forget to get your jar ready and fill it with the incoming spurts of semen. There, the final sample of the day has been collected. Now, if you could just push the panting fiend off of you before he starts drooling on your shoulder.

Something warm and slimy touches your neck. It has you pulling back so quickly that you almost fall and spill the vile essence all over you before the jar could be properly sealed.

Hawks shrinks back and quickly withdraws the indigo tongue into his mouth, looking down in what appears to be shame. You touch the licked spot, the thick saliva coating your fingers. 

“Sss-sorrry.” Regret can be heard clearly in his droning voice.

“No, it’s...it’s okay,” you stammer. The sensation lingers, and then ignites a spark somewhere inside you.

A sick, disgusting, and absolutely fucked up spark. The next thing you say should horrify you, but instead you feel nothing but a twisted form of anticipation. “You can...um...do that again, if you want.”

His tail slapped the floor in excitement before he slowly closed the distance again, cautiously looking into your eyes before his tongue slithers out and caresses the same wet space.

The smooth muscle is hot against you, extending to inhuman lengths to explore your neck. The slick sounds as it slid across your skin should have grossed you out—all of this should be grossing you out, so you don’t understand why you tilt your head back to give him more room. He licks up and down your throat slowly to savor your taste, breathing heavily and releasing a stale stench from his open maw. You imagined the breath of a previously dead man to smell a hundred times worse, frankly. 

With your neck completely drenched in his cooling slobber, he ventures upward, purring louder than ever as he tastes the flesh of your jaw. The tapered end of his tongue begins to curiously flick at your earlobe before circling around the shell of your ear. He seems to take a liking to the flabby cartilage and laps at it playfully while giving the occasional nip and suck and god, it’s all heard so fucking clearly, every schlick and smack traveling right through your canal and setting off questionable reactions all over you. Your hands are clenched and held against your chest, but you don’t tell him to stop.

‘What the hell is wrong with me?’

The licking moves to your cheek, lapping at it shortly before moving to your pursed lips.

‘This is fucked up beyond words.’

You flinch when the clammy tongue brushes over your lips, at first smoothing over them lightly, possibly testing to see how you’d react. His face is so close, your noses almost touching. To allow a nomu this close to you, touching you like this…

When you make no move of resistance, he gets braver and laps at your mouth with controlled eagerness. Your eyes close to hide from the otherworldly gaze, but your lips feel even more sensitive to the weight that continues flicking and pressing at them, covering them in hot saliva. Several times does it briefly part your lips and graze your teeth, making you swallow at the thought of…

‘Don’t do that.’

Hawks pauses when you open up for him, but gives a gleeful chirp and snakes his way into your inviting mouth.

‘I’m really letting him do this.’

Clawed hands grab your arms a little too tightly and hold you in place. It hurts, yet all you can focus on is the flexible muscle exploring your mouth. It rubbed against the roof, pushed at the inside of your cheeks, and eventually stroked and curled around your own tongue.

‘You’re sick.’

But you’ve been sick ever since you got here, haven’t you?

When his grip loosens, you take the opportunity to place your hands around his head, digging your fingers into his...hair? Plumage? Was his hair always this feather-like?

A high-pitched sound of surprise leaves him when you try to pull him in closer. He quickly complies, closing the distance until his lips and mouth are covering yours.

It completely smothers your senses. You see his black wings expand to slowly encase both of you. You hear the wet friction of his tongue and the hungry growls that roll from his throat. You smell sweat and blood, briefly wondering just what exactly was he made to do during those ‘tests’. You taste the thick and flavorless saliva that makes you gag at first, but becomes easier to swallow as you take in more. And most of all, you feel him slowly moving in and out of your wide open mouth, the thrusting motion forcing your thighs to rub together in response to the growing heat threatening to consume you.

You snap out of it before that can happen.

Hawks pulls away when he hears your choked sounds of protest, your hands suddenly on his chest and pushing. Fresh oxygen rushes back into your lungs when his tongue leaves your mouth and retreats back into his. The warmth between your legs doesn’t fade away. Everything that just happened, everything you just allowed this monster to do fully sinks in.

And you fucking enjoyed it.

You back away from him as quickly as you can, ignoring his confused groans. A wave of nausea sweeps over you like a powerful gust that churns your stomach.

“Rest. I need to go.” It was all you said before you picked up the forgotten jar and fled the room, refusing to falter from the sorrowful whines behind you.

The urge to spew the little food you’ve been fed throughout the day all over the hallway floor is strong, but you manage to hold out until you reach the toilet in your room, quickly kneeling and hurling. It wasn’t much, but it still left you teary-eyed and with a burning throat.

What did you do? Just what the hell did you do that warranted getting kidnapped, having your nice comfortable life stolen from you, and the only way to cope was by making out with a horrid creature? You jolt from a painful mix of a sob and a hiccup. It’s been weeks since your last breakdown, but this new discovery was another hard blow to your sanity and pride. You let the tears flow as you flushed away your mess, moving over to your bed and collapsing onto the thin mattress. Fuck this facility. Fuck the scum that created all of this.

And fuck the throbbing wetness between your legs that still won’t go away.

Your sobs transform into humorless laughs. You’re going to have to get rid of the throbbing yourself, aren’t you? They won’t arrive to collect all of your samples for about another thirty minutes, so that should be enough time...

You pulled down the thin blue pants and rubbed your fingers over the slick that had gathered from what had transpired in Hawks’s room. It’s true, you’ve been doing nothing but sick shit since you’ve been tossed into this new life. Why do you even still hold on to feelings like shame and disgust? What good will they do you here?

So you try to drown out the voice of your conscience as you laid back, succumbing to the wonderfully twisted thoughts of a nomu’s tongue.

x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

Examination

Quirk #3: Regeneration

Quirk#4: Heat Resistance

Notes: Our most advanced specimens deserve the best healing quirks we have to offer. Raptor is no exception. It will also make up for his lack of weight and hard muscle, not that he should ever be mistaken as frail. Most importantly, this should accelerate the regrowth of his feathers and supply him with an endless arsenal. We do not want to risk his regeneration being hindered by burns. After all, it was fire that led to the host’s death. This is why we have added a quirk that should make it almost completely fireproof.

The only people that Raptor disliked more than the Coats, were the Masks. The Coats saw him as nothing more than an attack dog that is expected to obey every command. But the humans in masks...to them, he was just a fleshy object to be dissected and analyzed.

They were poking and cutting to their heart’s content. His mind screamed to get away from the assortment of blades and needles that hovered over him, sinking into his skin in various places while he could only writhe against the cuffs of the metal table he was strapped to. He doesn’t believe it’s their intention to test every ounce of his willpower, but that sure as hell is what they’re doing right now as he tries, really tries not to use his feathers out of desperation.

“Excellent. The cuts begin healing the moment they’re made,” one of them observes. “Try deeper incisions. Maybe I should try removing one of its eyes.”

Raptor’s heartbeat was booming in his ears after hearing those words.

A younger Mask has been flinching from every one of the nomu’s movements. “Shouldn’t we sedate it or something? What if it lashes out?”

“Stop panicking. A nomu won’t hurt anyone without orders, though his responses to pain are stronger than I expected. We may have to fix that.”

Raptor wouldn’t mind that at all. He hisses and howls as he’s taken apart and mended back together in a torturous loop. His brain is throbbing so strongly one would worry that it might burst. He fights to think through all of the agony. 

He thinks of your touch. He thinks of your taste. Were you repulsed by what he did that morning? 

Sharp pain shot through his wings when his feathers were being forcefully yanked out, his teeth on the verge of shattering from his tightly clenched jaws.

“Perfect! Look at that, they’re already growing back in.” 

They were. He could feel the fresh plumes pushing through his skin. The regeneration did well in preventing any real damage, but it didn’t make the violent tearing of his feathers any easier to bear.

The cruel assault on his wings and tail eventually ended, black fluff littering the room’s floor. He remembers when you mentioned other nomu being capable of shutting down whenever they wanted. What he wouldn’t give to just turn off like a light switch right now.

“Alright, it’s time to move on to his heat resistance. Get the torch.”

The what? Raptor searched the fragments of his knowledge; most words were familiar to him, they just took a while to be remembered from...something. He doesn’t understand how he already knows so much, even though his subconsciousness needs time to dust everything off.

One of the Masks was holding a small object that ended in a tube. With a push of a button, a small blue flame appeared.

The glowing yellow eyes that were normally slits were suddenly wider than he thought possible, every part of him hyper focused on the small fire that was getting too close to his sore wings. His mind recovered a new piece of information:

Blue flames are to be feared.

He was thrashing the second the searing pain was felt, fighting to escape, to get away from the blue death that threatened to incinerate his wings again. He has felt this before. He doesn’t want to burn again.

Panic consumed him, unaware of how much his feathers have sharpened as he beats his wings and tail against the table. He can barely hear the Masks’ frantic voices over the ear-splitting screech, a screech that he realizes is coming from his own strained throat.

“–ptor, I SAID STOP!”

“–y arm! Fuck, my arm is bleeding bad–”

“–old you he’d attack! Why is he reacting so–”

“–atives! Into his neck! Hurry!”

Needles are being jammed into his neck, the chemicals working quickly in sapping away his strength, limbs becoming too heavy to move, and his thoughts were too cloudy to even continue panicking. The scorching heat was still present in his wing, but he can still feel the presence of all of his feathers. There was no foul smell of burnt plumage.

“Aaaugh, my arm...” In the corners of his vision, Raptor saw one of the Masks hunched over and clutching a blood-soaked arm. He didn’t mean to hurt any of them.

“Shut up and go patch yourself up.” An older man motioned the rest to come closer to the calmed nomu, which they cautiously obeyed. “Do you all see it? His feathers aren’t damaged at all. Perfect.”

“But why didn’t he stop resisting after you ordered him several times? And why was his reaction to pain so strong?”

The elder grimaced behind his mask and shook his head. “Its pain tolerance is laughable. There’s no use in a nomu having such sensitivity. We’ll need to perform an operation that will dull his nerves.” 

They scrambled around the table, gathering new tools and focusing the creaky hanging light on Raptor’s face. He was too doped up to even react to the harsh brightness.

“And if he ignores us like that again, we may need to alter his brain and ensure his compliance in the future.”

The nomu tried to make a sound of protest, but in his dazed state he could give no more than a pathetic whimper. He was rather thankful of the drugs for making him unable to notice just how many needles were sinking into his brain, or the blades that opened up the rest of his head, keeping the tools in place to prevent his skull from instantly healing. It still hurt, a lot. But as they tweaked his pulsing organ, injecting unknown fluids inside, the pain began to dim. Raptor would have celebrated and attempted to wag his tail in relief.

But it wasn’t the only thing that was fading. The coldness of the metal at his back was becoming distant, the chill in the air of the room was suddenly so faint that it no longer made him shiver. 

He wanted it all to hurt less, but he still wanted to feel. 

He has no idea how much time had passed once they finally finished and allowed his bone and flesh to close up. The old Mask stared down at him, gloves drenched in thick crimson.

“That should do it. Going by your weaker reactions, the operation was a success and you now feel less sensation. Good.”

‘No. Not good.’ It’s what he was tempted to say, but Raptor didn’t want to utter a single word to anyone besides you, and the cruel man’s recent threat of robbing him of his free will ensured that he keeps his mouth shut.

Raptor hates it here.

x---x---x---x---x

There were fresh claw marks covering the walls of Hawks’s room, and this time they were angry. The drawings and games you made together were literally slashed out, with spots of blood spread out all over the floor.

He was curled up in a corner, wings concealing most of his shaking form.

“Raptor.” Firmly addressing him is usually all it takes to gain his full attention, just like any other nomu, High End or not.

Hawks doesn’t respond at all.

That’s new...and very unnerving.

You called him again. The mass of feathers didn’t budge. You swallowed a lump in your throat. He had clearly just thrown a violent tantrum, and you don’t know if he has fully calmed down yet. Approaching him is too risky, but the damn nomu won’t even acknowledge you. So you’ll have to get through him in a more natural way. 

“Raptor, is everything alright? Do you, um, need some space? I can come back a little later...maybe another thirty minutes or so.” You offered, your body slightly twisting toward the door, ready to bolt if he decided to attack. You ignored the cold hard fact that the door and your legs would do little in protecting you from him.

His tail slowly uncurls like a timid snake, wings following suit and revealing his shrunken form. He was hugging himself tightly, talons peeling the skin off of his biceps. His head hung low, but you can see the spot of red in each eye looking right at you. He looked like an angry and frightened child, and his pitiful plea didn’t help matters.

“Don’t...go.”

His vulnerable state quelled your fears, but you still took caution. “Can I come closer?”

He looks down at the floor for a moment, seemingly pondering the question, before straightening his posture and nodding. 

You follow the routine you’ve been getting used to with him, setting aside the jar and taking some time to talk. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

It was supposed to compel him to instantly explain the issue, or at least attempt to with his awkward speech. You instead see him flinch and growl lowly, as if he didn’t appreciate you making demands. Just what is going on with him?

Your anxiety was probably visible since he quickly switched back to a less aggressive stance. You wince when he drags a claw through his flesh, blood leaking out for only a second before the wound instantly repairs itself. “Can’t feel.” He weeps with cracks in his unnatural voice. At least he’s dragging out his words less and sounds less like a moaning zombie.

“You can’t feel?” You repeated, edging closer and placing a hand over the healed spot. Another growl, louder this time, scares you into pulling away. But his bigger hand seizes yours and presses it hard onto the black skin. You feel the tremors that begin to wrack his body and try to stay calm in the wake of his growing distress. 

His voice becomes only more broken. “Can’t feel it! Can’t feel you!”

You find yourself shushing him, holding your free hand up like you’re trying to calm a panicking animal. You cup the side of his face, but that seems to upset him even more. “You can’t feel my hand?”

He shuts his eyes and shakes his head, squeezing your hand tightly enough to cut off circulation. How freely he can emote still freaks you out a bit, face looking on the verge of shedding tears. Everything about him continues to be so surreal.

“Raptor, you’re a shitty nomu,” you told him with a small smile. “Not that I mind.”

And there goes that cute head tilt. The thought of him being released in a city to wreak havoc, just like the one that attacked Endeavor and...him, feels less possible after every meeting.

He was still powerful and potentially dangerous, if the state of the walls were anything to go by. You really shouldn’t be pushing your luck or his temper. On the other hand, you did decide yesterday that from now on, you are going to embrace the depraved dumbass within you. Hawks stiffens and starts to slowly pull back, but your hand makes its way to the back of his head. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” you soothed him. “I just want to see if you can feel any of this.”

With no more hesitation, you pressed your lips to his, feeling his shock through a surprised grunt. For a minute, you simply cover his rough lips with kisses while he stays completely still, eyes looking on the verge of bulging right out of their sockets. It looked downright silly. Why was he so shocked by a simple kiss anyway, after the way you let him ravage your mouth yesterday? 

Your lips pause when you remember the distraught sounds he made that morning as he watched you rush out of the room. That’s right.

“Hey,” you murmur against him. “Sorry for taking off like that last time. Just...don’t worry about it, okay.” He released a hot breath onto your face. Your trapped hand is finally freed from his iron grip, numb and stiff, but you keep your attention on the motionless nomu. “We’re not exactly supposed to be doing this, but I want you t-mmf!”

He suddenly went forward and attacked your lips, aggressively mimicking your movements with enough force to bruise. You try to keep up and calm his pace, sighing into his mouth once his lips finally begin to slow down. He’s clumsy like you expected, but his intelligence shows when he tries to follow your lead and quickly learns the intimate dance of your mouths. The occasional swipe of that blasted tongue across your lip makes you gasp, and then you feel big strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you close, the beats of his excited wings, the throaty growls that rattle your entire being…

You can feel yourself heating up again already.

“Mmm, Raptor...wait,” you manage to say between kisses, your hands pushing against his chest. He gives a grating sound of annoyance, but pulls away like you wished. You were suddenly hyper aware of his size and strength – this monster that was holding you closely and taking care not to harm you. If any other nomu had you like this, they undoubtedly wouldn’t have stopped.

“So, did you feel any of that?” Your hand travels down to his groin and rubs at the bulge that still had a lot of growing to do. “Do you feel that?”

To your dismay, he shakes his head. “No,” he groans as his wings droop closer to the floor. 

It has you stumped. How are you supposed to please him when his whole body is numb?

“But…” He licks his lips slowly. “Can still taste. Tastes so good.”

When you let him lap at your lips again, he twitches beneath the ragged cloth.

You put two and two together, and the realization makes you gulp. And ache.

Remember, shame is useless here.

He allows you to back away and create some distance. The sight before you is frightening on its own: The sharp stare of the raven-winged fiend while surrounded by the deep marks of its outburst would do well in intimidating any sane individual. Remembering what exactly he is makes you pause only for a second, your hands grabbing the bottom of your thin blue shirt and lifting it before your pesky conscience can even get a word in.

Hawks’s wings flare out slightly when your breasts are revealed to him, talons clicking against the floor as he shuffles about, at a loss of how to react. Relieved that you haven’t been pounced on immediately, you lean down to remove your pants next, ignoring the trembling in your hands as you pull the garment down and step out of them. They never supplied you with underwear, so with your two articles of clothing removed, you were completely nude in front of the dangerous nomu.

At first you both just stared at each other, until he finally came forward to scan your body more closely, mindful of how nervous you were. The tension made you almost choke and cough on your words.

“I-if you want to…taste more of me, go ahead.” You didn’t mean to squeak out those last two words. You blame it on the chilly air.

The hands that take hold of your hips feel extra hot, along with the breath that grazes your chest. The blue tongue slides past his lips and extends to press against the spot right over your pounding heart, then moving smoothly up the column of your neck and your cheek in one long swipe, the wet trail making you shudder. The mouth ventures close to your ear to utter the word that you remember repeating to him on the first day you got him off.

“Calm.”

It’s followed by a rolling purr that eases you into doing just that. The humming continues while he eyes your breasts, nipples already pert from being exposed to the air. Even in your more relaxed state, the sudden lick across your tit makes your breath hitch. He seems to enjoy your response and repeats the action, giving it several more laps before wrapping around the entirety of the soft globe like a tentacle, squeezing gently.

“Ah, Raptor,” you moan when the tip of the tongue flicks at your nipple, sending the tiniest of jolts through you. “Damn, where did you learn to do that?” 

He answers with nothing more than a groan as he continues to show off his tongue’s flexibility. It coils and swirls around the skin until every inch of it is covered in his saliva, making you even more sensitive to the cold air. Satisfied with his work, he moves on to repeat the motions with your other breast.

The pleasure was soothing, like a massage…if the masseuse had sticky boneless limbs. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around him, letting yourself enjoy the vile act of a monster sampling your taste. 

His mouth suddenly engulfs you, the damp heat adding to the ongoing feeling of his tongue dancing around your tit. The purrs abruptly become a powerful vibration that electrifies your skin and brings forth your moisture to drip and run down your thighs.

But Hawks suddenly pulls away and stares at you intensely, the glower snapping you out of your daze.

“What is it?” You were getting nervous again. Did one of your reactions irritate him?

He breathes in, again and again, sniffing at the air for something. The swaying tail hints that whatever he smells is exciting him. His head lowers in pursuit of the scent and stops at your womanly mound to take a long whiff at the spicy aroma emanating from your cunt.

With his breath now blowing right against your sex and increasing your arousal, your juices trickled freely onto the floor and for him to see. The clawed hands on your hips held you steady, preventing you from collapsing from the nerve-racking anticipation that had you shaking all over. At no point in your life have you ever felt this exposed, being ogled by a pair of eyes in which the irises were bigger than you’ve ever seen them, mesmerized by the source of the delicious smell.

The tongue slips between your thighs before you could even prepare yourself, stretching across the entirety of your lips, over your entrance, nearly reaching your ass before it pulls back toward his mouth, the rubbing of the silky muscle creating buzzes of pleasure. Looking down gives you the unpleasant view of his brain, but you also get to see him swallow and savor your taste, humming deeply in approval before salivating with the need to drink up more.

“Good.”

He doesn’t wait for your response – his face is already being shoved into you, and you’re suddenly bombarded with delightful hot sensations all over your pussy. The ravenous organ travels up and down your folds, collecting every drop of your sweet nectar while you could do nothing but spread your legs to give him more leeway – God you’re such a whore – and cover your mouth in the hope that no passerbys hear your moans in the room. 

When your legs officially become jelly and can no longer support you, Hawks tires of holding you up and allows you to fall back a little too hard onto the floor, the impact making you wince. Any other time, he probably would have at least made a sound of apology, but your sopping wet pussy has stolen his attention. He wastes no time in lifting your hips up toward his waiting mouth, now utilizing his lips along with his tongue to loudly slurp up your essence.

His vicious hunger has you seeing stars. Wings open up and expand around both of you like black curtains that darken your vision, like a bird of prey mantling over a hard-earned meal. The only thing you can clearly see between your legs are the eerie glows of red and yellow; the glare of a demon that seeks to devour you from the inside. He starts to suck your folds dry, growling as he inspects every inch of the ravaged honeypot until his lips brush against your neglected clit.

A muffled “fuck!” passes between your fingers, both of your hands tightly clamped over your mouth. The reaction surprises him, and to his delight, it triggers more of your nectar to flow. The most efficient gag wouldn’t have been enough to suppress your scream when he sucked hard on your sensitive bud.

You couldn’t help it. Fighting past the paralyzing pleasure, your hands blindly grab at his head and accidentally bury your fingers into a soft squishy brain. The discomfort makes him shake his head and groan in irritation, raising his head and narrowing those menacing eyes at you as a silent warning.

“Hah...shit...I’m sor–AH! Fuck-oh my god....” He’s already attacking your clit again before you can finish your apology. All he cares about at the moment is your taste, and not even you were going to interrupt him. The surrounding wings occasionally twitch and shudder around you, vibrating along with your approaching climax. But the second you feel dangerously close, his lips leave the perky little pebble and move back down to lap at your fresh flow. It tears you away from an orgasmic finale and brings you back to that sensual middle ground. The audible licks were amazing, but you need to reach that edge. Your hand drifted down to your pussy, right over his tongue where you can give your clit the stimulation needed to cum…

“Hwrrrrrrr…”

You felt the terrifying snarl more than you heard it, shaking you to your very core. The other core, not the one on the verge of bursting. You immediately pull away and freeze, shivering and breathing quickly at the sight of his bared fangs. For a brief moment, the tent of feathers showed off a faint sheen, like they all suddenly sharpened. A quivering, fear-fueled gasp left you. 

It felt like the staredown went on forever, but Hawks was eventually convinced that you weren’t going to distract him from his feast again and returned his gaze to the fragrant pussy before him. However, after a few more licks, he grunted in frustration. You weren’t secreting your precious juices fast enough; your body simply couldn’t keep up with his newfound greed.

The insatiable tongue keeps poking and prodding at your opening until it pushes in just enough to slightly stretch your walls. You struggle to stay relaxed and keep your hands to yourself. Hawks was currently as unpredictable as any other nomu, and you didn’t want to piss him off.

When the hot thick muscle is suddenly shoved into you, you don't even have time to cover your mouth and block the next scream that is ripped from your throat. There’s no time to adjust to the completely foreign sensation. It squirms inside of you like a living creature, massaging your pussy in ways you didn’t even know were possible, sometimes hitting that special soft spot.

Your molten center spreads its flames across every nerve. This is far beyond what you fantasized on the night you touched yourself. His tongue was able to fill you completely, all while moving around more freely than a cock or even fingers ever could. Too soon does it leave your pulsing walls and back into his mouth, where he swallows every drop he’s gathered before shooting his tongue back out and penetrating you again before you can even complain.

He was moving with more force, enough to create a visible swell in your stomach that moved along with his tongue. You can’t look away from it, even as he begins to push in and out at a steady rhythm, the pleasure building up to new heights while the bulge in your belly moves up and down. You’re tempted to ask him to move his wings to allow more light for a better view, but interrupting him now is probably a stupid idea.

He pants loudly from his open mouth as he fucks you thoroughly with nothing more than a long powerful tongue, his thrusts moving faster and deeper in search of more of your savory wetness.

Meanwhile, you were dizzy. It was uncomfortable at first. It’s been so long since you’ve been fully stretched, but it all quickly melds into pleasure you have long since forgotten – no – you hadn’t even known. Your interest in sex has greatly diminished during your stay here. Hell, you were certain that your libido was officially dead. But Hawks….

This abomination was going to be the death of you.

Your g-spot is suddenly struck again, and again. Most of your words were incoherent, and the ones that could be made out were nothing more than endless encouragement.  “Gah-hnngh, fuck, Hawks, you want more, don’t you? Ah, I’m about to give you more. Keep going Hawks don’t fucking stop.” 

Talons are biting into your skin from his tightened grip. With a low bellow of excitement, his mouth moves to cover your entire sex, prepared for the incoming downpour, and thrusts his tongue into your most sensitive spot repeatedly without mercy.

The pressure within explodes violently, completely overshadowing that laughable orgasm you gave yourself yesterday. Each contraction adds more white that flashes in your eyes, moving in from the corners of your vision until it becomes as blinding and unbearable as the bliss that washes over you. There are noisy gulps between your legs, the parched monster happily taking every rush of fluid directly into his mouth and down his throat until he finally has his fill.

Even through your spasms your walls try desperately to clamp around his tongue as it leaves, but to no avail. The looming wings finally move away and return to their usual resting spot behind his back while he sets your lower body down and licks his lips for any remaining traces of your slick. The talons never broke your skin, but they did leave some glaring marks on your hips and ass.

You still tingled all over from the waist down while your muscles make the greatest effort to respond to any of your commands. No use. You decide to lay there covered in the monster’s spit. The work of that amazing specimen of a tongue almost made you forget that this was being done to arouse him. You should probably check to see if he was hard. He may not be able to feel your hand anymore, but he still might be excited enough to cum from the act. Stupid science bastards, making your job more complicated.

“Hawks.”

The single word uttered from the nomu clears your mind instantly. Your weakened arms push you upright to properly face him. He was still crouching, scaly toes supporting the weight of his body like a gargoyle without a perch.

“You say Hawks. What...is Hawks?”

What? When did you…?

Oh. Shit. Your mouth was moving on its own while he was eating you out.

Your mind was zipping in several directions at once, hoping that he wouldn’t find anything odd about your eyes darting about, looking everywhere except at him. You settled on a simple and dismissive answer. “Oh...don’t worry about it. I was just babbling while you had me on cloud nine,” you said with a crooked smile.

Black lips twisted into a frown, accompanied by a quick beat of his wings and then...eww. His brain is pulsing way too much, so much that he shakes his head in agitation, which only adds to the disturbing visual as the organ jiggles slightly in his head. “Hawks...don’t know...I know…” His words jumbled over his inner turmoil. The long tail lifted and began to swing quickly.

You sat there, nude and bewildered. Every High-End still carried traces of who they once were, expressing some of the same behaviors and habits they presumably had before death.

This is the first time you’ve seen one with any sort of recollection of their past life, even if it’s something as minor as feeling a connection to their name. You have a feeling that’s not supposed to happen.

You shouldn’t tell him anything; nothing good will come out of it. He needs to shut up and start being a bloodthirsty killer before the doctors decide that he’s more trouble than he’s worth.

“Raptor,” your shaky legs move slowly, shifting until you’re resting on your knees, face to face with the nomu that still looks interested in your naked body even as his head throbs. “It’s not important. Stop thinking about it.”

The look he gives you is one of hurt and dammit, this is exactly his problem. “But...Hawks. Want to know what-”

“I said stop thinking!”  Your volume shocks both of you, but Hawks actually recoils from the unexpected shout. You don’t care, all it does is confuse you more, anger you more. “Why the hell aren’t you listening to me anymore? That’s what you’re supposed to do! Do whatever we tell you! What, did you break?” A full-body chill reminds you of the state you’re in. You were seriously having an outburst while still completely naked with Hawks’s saliva glistening over your thighs. You groan and turn away from the troubled hybrid to grab your clothes and dress yourself, not giving a damn if you pissed him off and he decides to kill you right there. He’d be doing both of you a favor, really.

But it shouldn’t be a surprise when you see that he hasn’t budged from his spot, making no move to retaliate. “I like you, Raptor,” you admitted. “Somehow, you managed to be the only welcomed company in this fucked up hospital slash prison, but you shouldn’t be. What we just did...that shouldn’t have happened. Fuck, I – I should’ve been terrified, and I kinda was, but, I shouldn’t have felt that good!” Your doubts, your conscience, they both return with a vengeance. But this time it’s not you they’re worried about. 

“If this is how you act around everyone else, you’re not going to last here.” You hold his face in your hands, a tender gesture that shouldn’t be possible with the likes of him. “These assholes are gonna get rid of you if you don’t do what they want, and they’re going to ask for horrible things. I know you don’t like killing, but if you keep up all of...this, you’re going to lose more than your sense of touch.”

He doesn’t make a sound, only staring at you before gritting his teeth and nodding in your gentle grasp. His compliance both relieves and hurts you.

“I’m sorry, but no more questions. Please? The less you know, the better.”

“No more…questions.” Dammit, you hate how clear the sorrow is in his eerie voice, like the mournful moans of a lost soul. “No more.”

You give him a smile of thanks, it’s the least you could give him. You try to bring the atmosphere back to its usual awkward yet friendly vibe. “Now, let me see if your, um, tasting did you any good.” You move to pull down his shorts. That is, until you notice the large damp spots and stains on the cheap material. Oh, he did not.

“Welp, it obviously worked. Now how am I gonna scrape this shit off?”

x---x---x---x---x

Hawks.

Flames.

Decay.

Death. Everywhere.

But, somehow, he knew it wasn’t his doing. 

Maybe he did kill a few...he wasn’t sure. It’s all so blurry and nauseating. 

Was he killing people? Was he…trying to save them? A monster like him, saving people?

“No more questions.”

Your voice echoes, bouncing across the shattered fragments of his mind. Raptor tries to obey. He doesn’t know what this Hawks is, or why it keeps plaguing him.

Whatever Hawks was, it’s gone. Raptor wants it to leave him alone.

x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

Field Test

Quirk #5: Camouflage

Notes: As you know by now, Raptor differs from other nomu in that he is designed for agility and stealth. An invisibility quirk will not only make Raptor into the perfect phantom, it can also assist in infiltration and spying. While the quirk may be called ‘camouflage’ mainly due to how it changes skin pigmentation, it does much more than match the colors of the environment. It hides the user’s entire form as perfectly as any true invisibility quirk. Raptor should be more than capable of destroying targets without ever being noticed.

You were right. It was strange how he doesn’t discover these ‘quirks’ on his own. It was an understatement to say that he was a little lost when a Coat ordered him to activate his Camouflage. Raptor was prepared to feel those words bind his limbs and move him against his will. Whenever his brain was under the Coats’ control, he was capable of doing whatever they asked, even when he himself didn’t understand what they were asking for.

So it was worrying when he felt nothing. He heard the order loud and clear, yet it didn’t wrap around his brain like it always does. 

So it wasn’t just you. His mind no longer submitted to anyone’s commands. He would have chirped in celebration if he didn’t have an audience that was still waiting for him to follow through, giving looks and comments of impatience while he stood there. 

He can’t let them notice that he was unaffected. The words of the Mask that stole his touch repeated in his head along with the memories of cutting and burning, every nerve seething from raw pain until all feeling began to fade.

“If he ignores us like that again, we may need to alter his brain and ensure his compliance in the future.”

Alter...change...he doesn’t want them to change him. So Raptor tried to pretend, another thing that felt natural to him. 

The process of finding his new quirk was difficult to describe; it was more like willing himself to blend in until the rest of his body got the message. All of his muscles tightened, and he almost panicked when black skin began to disappear before his eyes. His wings, his tail, every part of him looked as if it was dissolving, but he can still move and feel the weight of each limb. Once his body relaxed, he was fully invisible. The Coats kept him pinned with their stares, however.

“Completely hidden. Very good,” one of them said, writing something down. They’re always watching, always taking notes on him, always judging. This all felt familiar as well. “Now, walk from that corner to there, and keep a hold on your quirk.”

There was no pull, no sudden fuzziness or loss of control. Nothing. It’s a strange feeling, following orders because he actually chooses to. It will take some getting used to, but it shouldn’t be too difficult. 

Has a monster like him ever acted before? It sure feels like it.

He performed several different tasks: running, climbing, flying, and shooting feathers. All while unseen by the naked eye. The feat even earned him a round of applause from the Coats.

“I can picture it already. He could slice apart an entire group of targets, and they wouldn’t even understand their deaths. A flurry of invisible blades!” One of them exclaimed with a smile that was way too wide given the subject matter.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to get a taste of what this is capable of right now.”

Right on cue, the doors opened. Every feather on his wings and tail bristled instantly, ready to shred whatever possible threat that may enter. They wouldn’t be able to see him. It would be so easy, just like the Coats said.

But instead of another nomu that was simpler and more violent than him, a woman was shoved into the room hard enough to make her stumble forward and fall, the door slamming shut behind her. She was dressed like you, wearing only a thin blue shirt and pants. What did they bring someone like her in here for?

She was already back on her feet, scanning the area with wide eyes and shrunken pupils before moving her gaze to the humans that continued to observe from the other side. The fear in the air was so thick that Raptor could nearly taste it as she shook uncontrollably – he wondered if her knees would collapse from the trembling alone.

He was still camouflaged; she couldn’t see him at all. The urge to reveal himself is strong, but one: the Coats had yet to order him to deactivate his quirk, and two: knowing that she was in a room with a nomu will most definitely only terrify her more, so he stayed where he was, motionless and quiet.

For a suffocating minute, the only sound was her rapid breathing until one of the Coats finally spoke up.

“Kill her, Raptor.”

“What?” The woman’s voice was constricted by anxiety. She looked timidly at the man, who only stared back expectantly, waiting for something. “W-what?” She choked out again. She switched her attention to the door, still distressed and shaking. When no horrid beast entered the room like she expected, her panic increased even more, stuttering so badly that it was a challenge to discern what she was trying to say. “I-I-I w-I won’t...I’m s-so...p-p-please.” 

Her head whipped upwards to a vent in the ceiling. Nothing happened. The confused woman was now spinning around looking for something, hysterical with the knowledge that her impending doom was coming, but not knowing where or when. The weight of her dread was making him anxious.

The same Coat, however, only sighed in annoyance at the sight of the trapped panicking animal. “Don’t dawdle, Nomu.” The final word dripped with venom. It reminded him of his place: a puppet that should have no will of its own. Raptor didn’t want to kill, but if he defies them, then they will dig into his brain again, and the woman will probably be violently killed by a more enthusiastic nomu. He’s afraid of what they might take from him next. He can’t let that happen.

The shrinking woman is still whipping her head around in every direction as her bare feet take a step backwards, then another, completely unaware of the larger creature that stood right behind her. He can’t guarantee a painless death, but he can make it as quick as possible for her.

Raptor added an edge to some of his feathers, but reconsidered. That would require pinpoint accuracy, not worth the risk with a target that was moving so erratically.

His tongue curiously ran over the points of his teeth, checking their sharpness. No, that would leave too much of a mess.

His hands clenched into fists, and that’s when he practically heard the ding in his head. A simple method, but it should work just fine.

He was originally going to wait until she backed all the way into him, but that would be rather cruel. Killing her before she even recognizes the danger is a greater mercy. His hand struck with the swiftness of a snake, grabbing the back of her neck. The delicate spine could be felt beneath.

Raptor was not as strong as other nomu. That didn’t mean he couldn’t crush a human’s bones with little effort.

He felt her jolt, but that’s all she had time to do before the sickening snap and crunch sounded throughout the room, then she went limp with nothing more than a few final twitches.

Some of the Coats audibly gasped, while others clapped excitedly at the kill they couldn’t even see coming. From their perspective, an unsuspecting woman’s neck was suddenly crushed by an invisible force like an aluminum can.

One of them didn’t look very impressed. “Eh, a bit anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

“We’re not watching a bloodsport,” another one snapped. “Raptor is designed to handle matters quickly. A cervical fracture is fast and effective.”

“She was so terrible at her job. I think she deserved a terrible death in return,” another said. 

Their babbling continued while Raptor placed the body on the floor more gently than his audience would have liked. Her eyes were still wide open, frozen in that moment of realization just a millisecond before death. Still, things could have been much worse for her. 

“I still think we should have used his harvester instead. She’s becoming a nuisance.”

Raptor has grown to really dislike that voice, the voice of the man that takes him away every morning. He always stares at him like an expensive possession that turned out to be a waste of money. It’s an effort to keep his lips from curling over his teeth whenever the bastard’s around.

An older lady spoke. “Her relationship with the nomu is unique and warrants its own set of experiments after we cover the basics here. We already told you that.”

“Yes yes, I know. But her sample this morning was pathetic. It’s like she’s forgotten her job, too busy turning our greatest achievement into a softie. Call me petty, but I’d get a good laugh out of watching her be devoured by the nomu that she’s decided to become friends with.”

Anger.

“You are petty, and short-sighted. Do you understand just how extraordinary this relationship is?”

Another Coat butted in. “Sure, but what use is sentiment to a nomu? This was supposed to be a cold lethal predator, not a child that likes to draw on walls. I agree that the bond with its harvester is holding it back. It would be better off without her.”

Raptor hates it. He doesn’t want any of them talking about you. To think that they’d consider something as twisted as offering you to him as a helpless prisoner to execute, just like the one whose spine he had just snapped.

How dare they.

The lady was suddenly staring right at him with a look of shock before her aged lips curled into a smirk. Actually, everyone was staring at him now, and they all showed varying levels of discomfort. That’s when he noticed that he can see his hands in front of him again, along with his feet, wings, and the rest of his body. His fury made him lose his hold on the Camouflage quirk. They had all just seen his face of hatred.

And yet the lady continued to smile. “I don’t believe he agrees with you two.”

She then whispered something, lips forming what looked like the word ‘magnificent’ while her eyes bore into him. Even his rage was nothing more than a fascinating process to be examined.

Raptor wants to get out of here.

x---x---x---x---x

You’re alright. You made it out. You were bruised, but you made it out.

That High-End nearly broke your fucking arm when it came. It was always a pretty rough one when you jerked it off but for god’s sake, why did it always have to squeeze you like a stress ball? Thankfully, your painful shriek of “STOP!” was enough to penetrate the horny shield over its brain and it released you.

It wasn’t your first injury, but it’s been a while since you’ve gotten such a scare. It could’ve been worse – it could always be much worse.

The fact that you feel elated when you reach Hawks’s room shows how close the two of you have gotten in less than a week. Two prisoners who agree that this place can go fuck itself; one was pumping cocks on the daily, the other failed miserably at being a ruthless monster. They ought to make a movie out of this.

You enter the room to see him resting in the center while several feathers carve into different areas of the walls and ceiling. His understanding of shapes was becoming more complex at a rapid rate, if the current drawings were anything to go by. They looked to be unintentionally abstract faces, varying greatly in size and structure, but one thing they all had in common was oversized eyes. Every face was furiously scratched in, the sound of chiseling surrounding you and adding to the ominous aura given off by the etchings that lacked skill but teemed with raw emotion. 

The scattered claw marks from yesterday are still as visible as ever. Everyday, this place looks more disturbing even with the not-so-hostile creature that occupies it.

Something prompts his feathers to stop abruptly and return to him, followed by him quickly standing up and hissing. The badly-timed hostility makes you jump back. “Raptor? What is it?” You tried to stay calm as usual.

He drew closer, eyes narrowed and teeth bared at the purplish welts on the arm that held your gazillionth jar. Oh, of course. You waved with you uninjured one. “It’s alright. One of the High Ends was being a little heavy-handed. It stings, but it’ll get better.” 

Hot air hits you when he releases a snort. While he studies the bruise, you continue to examine the newest artful additions. “So...what do all of these mean?” You ask.

He follows your traveling gaze and mutters. “Watching. They’re always watching.”

He said it so smoothly that it gave you chills. “You’re tripping up less on your words. That’s, uh, good.” When a grunt is his only response, you keep talking. “Are these the doctors?” He nodded. “Did you...have to kill again?”

A beat. Then he nods again, more slowly this time. “It was easier.” 

You’re not sure what to say to that, deciding to instead rest a hand on his arm. For some reason, what he said didn’t scare you. It was you who asked him to act more like a nomu, anyway.

You both stayed like that for a few minutes, standing side-by-side in the middle of the room’s crude composition that illustrated his short life. Innocence, rage, and now a feeling of powerlessness. You can relate; your progress here was very similar except that the ‘innocence’ part can be replaced with ‘grief’, having lost contact with everything you were familiar with. 

“You know, maybe I can add my own additions to this sometime, if you don’t mind. Make this place our own little mural.” You giggle when his tail swings at the proposal. “There’s no way they haven’t noticed how odd of a duo we are by now. I wonder how those assholes feel about all of this.”

You’re grabbed and pulled into him so quickly that the jar slips out of your grip, rolling away as you’re pushed into a hard black chest. The tight embrace squeezes your swollen arm painfully. “Shit, that hurts!”

He whines apologetically and loosens his hold. Pain and lack of oxygen aside, it’s oddly comforting. You haven’t been hugged in ages, and here you were being held by this. A song of soft coos calm you, but there is a noticeable sad tone to them. You look up at him, chin resting on his pecs. “Raptor, I know it sucks here, and I don’t really know what to say to make things better, but I’ll keep trying to hang out with you for as long as I can, alright?” You reassure him while rubbing his chest. “Remember, you’re kind of the best thing that ever happened to this place. Not that my standards in this shithole are very high – they’re actually lower than a regular nomu’s sex drive – but it’s still an achievement you should be proud of.”

Your words did their job, if his lighter hums are anything to go by. His comforting heat was gone too soon when he gently pushed you back, following up with a press of lips against yours.

There’s no more clumsiness in his movements. He switched from light brushes that had you craving more to deep smooches that took your breath away. There wasn’t much else you could do except follow his lead. The teasing licks against your lips never fail to get you going, and he probably knows that by now. Unfortunately, you had to break apart for a breather, allowing him to cradle you as he waited.

“Who the hell have you been kissing while I’m not around to learn so fast?” You joked.

You didn’t expect him to look away and hesitate to answer before uttering, “I...remembered.”

If he was expecting that to upset you, it didn’t. You can’t stop his brain from working, and he no longer automatically gives in to any demands. You still don’t know what’s up with that. “Right,” you sighed. “Are you remembering anything else?”

“No...same things. Hawks...fire...death...I want to forget.” He pulls you in again, this time taking care not to add too much pressure to your bruises. His strangled attempts at speech have become smoother over the days, but hearing the winged hero beneath the layers of grotesque sounds that create his voice is going to take a long time to get used to. “Can...you...make me forget?”

A twinge of sadness and pity. Are his final moments the only parts that keep playing in his head, in a cruel loop? You direct all of your strength into your voice and speak. “Forget about it. Forget about Hawks and all of those foggy memories.”

He sits there and blinks with no clear sign that your words had any effect. 

Then he wilts and groans in defeat.

“No good, huh?” You shrug. You truly did wish you could help him. “There’s not much else I can do, sorry.” A pause. “Must feel like nightmares, I guess. I get plenty of those.” You rest in his hold while recalling some of the fears that manifest in your sleep. “Dreams about what they’ll do when they don’t need me anymore. I never had the guts to put myself out of my misery – don’t have many options to work with anyway. Maybe I can ask a nomu to chomp my head off.”

“No.” The word was growled out, felt all around you like a small quake. You quickly try to calm him by raising your uninjured arm to hold and caress his face. You know that he couldn’t exactly feel it anymore, but the memory of your touch is probably what still managed to soothe him. It was an intimate image, touching him so lovingly while in his arms.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stick around. We can make things easier for each other.” Without a second thought, you straighten up and begin pushing down your pants, Hawks already chirping in excitement and fumbling with your shirt, his talons ripping the cloth. You were naked in front of him once again, and the memories of yesterday already have your pussy lubricating itself in preparation. Samples...semen….you weren’t thinking about any of that. You just wanted him again.

“Let’s help each other forget.”

And just like that, you were devoured. His mouth was everywhere and you happily took it all. You were addicted to his touch as much as he was addicted to your flavor. The dark blue tongue moved gracefully across your face, the small grin and lidded eyes telling you that he quite enjoyed the sight of you covered in his saliva. You opened your mouth wide as an invitation that he gladly took, the strong muscle charging straight into your mouth and hitting the back of your throat. It makes you gag and has tears pricking at your eyes, yet you continue to throb between your legs.

He fucks your mouth so fast and roughly that you’re forced to only breathe through your nose. You’re clinging onto him as you gurgle around the ravaging muscle, your nails unable to pierce his tough hide no matter how hard you grip.

Something solid rubs right against your sex, grazing your clit and leaving you moaning into his mouth. His hips were bucking into the air with a very prominent tent that constricted his growing cock.

It’s the first time a nomu’s dick actually touches you there. 

And it makes your walls clench.

You get closer for more friction, trying to grind against the massive erection while he finally removes his tongue from your mouth. That’s when he notices just how hard you’re trying to get off on his bulge.

Heat is rushing to your face at his puzzled expression. “You-” You gasp, still catching your breath after having him squirm down your throat for so long. “You feel pretty good.”

He simply watches you continue to rub against him – you don’t even notice that his hips are no longer moving, you just press closer to him and grind harder in desperation. His wings flutter and the rest of his body shakes lightly, his breaths coming out in short huffs.

He was laughing.

The look of amusement is so unexpected that it has your hips stopping out of embarrassment. And here you thought nothing else could leave you flustered at this point. “You don’t have to laugh. Trust me, you’ve looked way more desperate than I have,” You tease him. 

He clicks his tongue, then with a yank and a loud rip, his shorts are in tatters and his cock springs free right onto your belly. Another short round of huffs are heard from him when you squeak in surprise. Just where did this attitude even come from?

Beads of precum ooze from his pointed head and drip onto your stomach. Maybe it’s your lust-tinted lenses, but his cock is looking much more attractive than usual. Its curved perfectly to hit all of the right spots, and those ridges probably feel amazing when moving inside you.

“Want more?”

The low-pitched voice right in your ear has you shaking, like it was a question from the Devil himself. Thirst aside, you don’t know what you should say. You trust that he won’t fuck you to shreds like the other High Ends would, but the biggest issue…

“I don’t know if I should risk that,” you murmur, a hand reaching to rub the textured flesh. “As tempting as it is right now.”

His confidence is replaced with disappointment. That is, until he immediately perks back up and grabs your hips.

“Wait what are yoooo-whoa!”  You’re being lifted off the floor, legs dangling uselessly as he holds you easily, your body hovering right over his twitching dick.

Panic begins to set in. “No! Nononono I said-”

“I won’t.” He says softly. As softly as he can with such a voice, at least. “Calm.”

Instead of penetrating like you feared, he lowers you until your flushed lips are resting on the length of his scaly shaft.  

And then, slowly, his hips push forward.

The bumps and creases slide against you in all of the right ways. “Oooh fuck.” You adjust yourself to ensure that he rubs your clit as well. The sensation has you shuddering in his hands as the pressure inside you builds quickly. Your slick makes his dick smoother after each thrust, and when Hawks sees that you’re comfortable and lost in the rhythm, he begins to speed up. 

Your legs are swinging madly at a complete loss on how to handle the electrifying friction, but the nomu grunts and takes hold of your thighs. They close around his cock, greatly increasing the pressure as he continued to fuck past your thighs. “Stay there.” The vibration from his deep raspy voice only arouses you more. His hips collide with yours after each buck.

As amazing as it feels, your hazy mind recalls that Hawks shouldn’t be able to properly revel in this outercourse. “I-I thought...you couldn’t feel this.” You say shakily.

Hawks is eyeing your bouncing form with great interest, his hips not missing a beat as he answered. “Can’t. Just watching.”

He presses down on you more, slowing down his pace with his eyes still locked on your face. His tongue quickly swipes across your forehead to taste the sweat that has mixed with his saliva. “You look good.”

Goddamn him.

You felt close, so close, but even as your limbs tingle from the pleasure, your orgasm remained out of reach. The most severe ache that had yet to be sated, to be given any attention, was inside you. You have never throbbed this much in your life, you didn’t even know that your muscles down there could even contract this tightly. The dragging of his cock against your drenched lips isn't enough. You don’t care about risk anymore. Not after feeling what he has to offer.

There’s no voice telling you how stupid you’re being right now. It already gave up on you.

Good.

“Haw–shit–Raptor, inside. I need you inside.” You beg between your moans. He stills completely, which has you whining and squirming even more.

“Inside?”

Hearing him say it sobers you up a bit, but not enough to kill your desire. “Just pull out before you cum, alright? Think you can do that?” You ask.

He nods eagerly, wings and tail moving with glee as he lifts you off of his dick that was already lubed up by your natural fluids. He angles himself until the head is pressing at your twitching entrance. 

You can’t tell if you’re trembling from excitement or fear. Probably both.

The fine tip already has you being stretched wide, burning and stinging in spite of your pussy’s preparation. It makes you wince and want to close your eyes – to create some distance between you and the pain – but your curiosity has you looking down to watch him enter you, inch by inch. You can once again see your stomach distend as it attempts to accommodate the large intrusion, much bigger than the slithery tongue that previously invaded it.

But it’s exactly what you craved, the unique texture feeling even more delicious when inside of you. Your toes curl and legs quiver from his girth; not as meaty as the other dicks that you’ve treated, just enough extra thickness to give you a stretch that you’ve never experienced, without causing serious harm.

He reaches the end of your cavern with a few more inches to spare, and the drawn out moan slipping past his lips surprises both of you. You try to relax around him while he fights the urge to move. Black shaky wings expand behind him.

“Feel…” He gasped and choked, one would think that he was trying to learn speech all over again. “Can feel...squeezing. So gooood.” The last word came out as a strong rasp against your face.

The new discovery has you smiling, one of your hands rubbing at a much larger one around your waist. “You can feel it? You feel how tight I am, Raptor? How badly I want you to stay inside me and never leave?” He may not be able to feel your heat or your dampness, but it looks like he can’t escape the pressure from a cunt’s death grip.

He twitches inside, making you jolt. Oh, how quickly the tables have turned.

You scratch under his chin. Numb as he is, he still tilts his head like a pet dying for affection. “Then I want you to fuck me. Stop thinking, and just move...” You bring your face close to his, pulling off a seductive look and tone even when impaled on him. “...Just like a good nomu.”

Perhaps Hawks had a submissive kink when he was alive. It would explain why that riled him up so much that he was already slamming into you with absolutely no warning. 

It hurts. It hurts so fucking good. Every thrust tears a helpless cry out of your body. The scales grind against every nerve around your hole, while the ones deeper inside nudge your velvety walls as they move in and out, in and out.

You couldn’t talk between your screams, not with how violently he was pounding you. Your arms and legs wrapped around him and hung on for dear life with your face buried in the crook of his neck. His own muscular arms wrap around you in a deceptively loving embrace, pumping into you with a rhythmic smack smack smack.  All you can do is reap what you sow and take it. 

This wasn’t just for you, this was for Hawks as well. You gave him something that he could feel again. What began as whiny gasps for air soon became rolling growls that vocalize a need for more. 

Your orgasm barely sticks out of the continuous blinding pleasure as he plows harder through your spasms, your contracting muscles wrestling with the merciless cock to hold it inside. 

His tone is dark. Vicious. “Tight. So tight!”

It makes your greedy body want even more. “Oh, good job, Raptor. Such a good boy.” You praise him, feeling the brief falter in his movements. He really does like that. “Go ahead and take it all, as much as you need-ah. Don’t worry about me. Fuck me until I can’t think.”

The violent sex stops and you’re being ripped away from that wondrous cock in the blink of an eye. Before you can even question what’s happening, your world begins to spin until you’re suddenly on the floor. You’re getting adjusted onto your hands and knees right before being pierced again with a force that shoves you forward. 

Your thoughts struggle to keep up with the lightning-fast sequence of events, hindered even more by the warmth of the body hovering right over you. Hawks too was on all fours, though he looked much more comfortable and natural, wings fully spread out in a proud and dominant display as he throbbed inside of you. 

His hips snap forward, already at a rapid pace that rocks you with each hard impact and soon has you howling again. The floor was filled with uneven cracks and scratches that scraped your knees, not that the discomfort was easy to notice while you were being drilled into. As you latched onto one of his arms for support, you noticed right in front of you, was your first game of tic tac toe.

Drool dripped down from the snarling jaws above you and onto the innocent group of lines and shapes.

The mounting beast humped you with every ounce of energy he had. Your aching pussy couldn’t take it. Too hard...too big... you’re cumming again around his pistoning cock, moans melting into defeated sobs. The huge pair of swinging balls occasionally smacked right into your oversensitive clit. You were losing the will to hold yourself up, gripping his supportive arm more tightly while your thighs quivered. Even if you had the strength to, you had no plans to ask the feral savage to stop.

He currently wasn’t anything like the gentle experiment you’ve befriended in just a few days. Right now, with his head thrashing around and flinging spittle everywhere as he barked, and wings beating hard against the floor, he was terrifying. Powerful, hungry, and single-minded.

So this is what it’s like to give in to a nomu.

It’s scary.

It’s thrilling.

Every fast agonizing stroke right against your cervix takes your breath away, your mouth eventually just hanging open in an attempt to capture whatever oxygen it could into your lungs. Hawks curls into himself so that he can crane his neck and look at you, saliva flowing freely down his chin. Each breath came out as a throaty growl wafting against your sweaty face. He takes one look at your parted lips, and stuffs you with his tongue.

If your thoughts were more coherent at the moment, you’d wonder how the hell the muscle was strong enough to be able to move into your throat as hard as the dick that continued to wreck your insides. His hips assisted in gagging you even more with each thrust. The threat of asphyxiation only brought you closer to your next orgasm. 

Your mind was empty, save for the immoral thoughts that have long since driven off their more honorable competition. 

Just use me.

Your entire body was on fire, getting pummeled from both ends.

Just use me however the fuck you want.

Hawks is suddenly bombarding your cunt with short and speedy ruts of his hips, and that does it. Your limbs give out and leave you to plop onto the floor as your pleasure blooms all over. But his long tongue follows you, still pushing into your whimpering mouth to deprive you of much-needed air. He simply lowers himself and proceeds to fuck you hard into the ground, pressing your skin into his many carvings.

His tongue leaves...your eyes rolling back….

Hawks releases a horrid cry that sounds like both a roar and a bird-like shriek.

Exhaustion…

Hawks is too lost in the surprising sensations, dull but still intense, to realize that he’s shooting his thick load into your womb

Warmth...full...sleep.

x---x---x---x---x

“Get up.”

The voice is muffled as you slowly come to. Whatever you’re resting on doesn’t feel like your bed.

“I know you’re awake. Hurry and get up.”

You’re surrounded by warmth, by something breathing. Pain shoots through your back and legs when you stir. When you open your eyes, you see the golden eyes of a High End.

The fear does well in masking your aches as you scramble out of the arms of what turned out to be Hawks, who was lounging on his side like a giant cat.

And standing at the door, was the damned doctor that you had the privilege of seeing every day.

His stare looked even more judgmental than it usually did. Full-on disgusted, actually. Realizing that you’re still naked, you grab one of Hawks’s wings that were splayed out on the floor to shield yourself.

He simply shakes his head. “I’ve already seen enough. And heard enough.”

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

“I-I…” you stammer, panic rising in your chest as you’re unable to come up with any sort of explanation. You even turn to Hawks, like he’d somehow provide you with the answer.

“I normally don’t care what deplorable methods you people use to collect your samples, but going by the filth between your legs...” That prompts you to look down, and the second you do, you already feel a dense fluid oozing out of you and running down your legs that were stained with white. “...you actually allowed Raptor to inseminate you.”

His words, along with your accelerating heartbeat, thunders in your ears. Hawks is watching his seed leak from your raw pussy. He remains still and quiet, uncertain of how to act in the presence of a doctor.

“To think that someone would deliberately let a nomu breed them. I know that the two of you have gotten close,” His eyes skimmed past the many images and markings in the room. “But just how depraved do you have to be to go this far with a nomu?”

If this was before the days you allowed Hawks to touch you, you would have felt embarrassed. You are scared. Not only did he cum inside you, you’ve also been caught right after the act.

But any sort of shame?

You had the nerve to huff, still hiding your body from him not out of shyness, but because the asshole didn’t deserve the view. “I guess we’re all sick fucks around here,” you retort.

The glare on his glasses add to the intimidation factor of his glower. He takes a step forward and gives a quick tilt of his head. “Get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

Both you and Hawks are taken back. “For what?”

He scowls even harder. “Still asking questions? You’re lucky that you’re valuable right now. You have most likely been impregnated. This is an unexpected opportunity to observe one of Raptor’s offspring. We’ll be watching over you until the birth.”

You don’t move, still soaking in every word. This most definitely was a mistake. Not only are you going to be taken away from Hawks to be cooped up in a room with constant surveillance, you’re going to have a...fuck.

You feel the wing in your grasp vibrate softly, Hawks sensing your distress and attempting to silently reassure you.

“I said get dressed,” the doctor ordered impatiently. “Or are you still basking in the afterglow?” He snickered at his own joke before walking forward, ready to take you by force.

That’s when the nomu in the room finally stood up to step right in front of you, standing tall in all of his naked glory and easily towering over the man.

You had to give the guy credit for not looking phased by the very dangerous creature blocking his path. Then again, maybe he was just so sure that Hawks wouldn’t harm him in any way.

“Out of the way, Raptor.” Strong and firm. It’s the tone that ensures a nomu’s obedience, but you know by now that Hawks’s mind has grown beyond that.

As expected, Hawks doesn’t budge, still looking down with eyes of liquid gold.

The doctor only looks more annoyed, not afraid. “I knew you were defective,” he sneered. “Always hesitating during tests. Such wasted potential, yet the others insist on keeping you around. To do what? Decorate rooms? The idiots should have altered your brain by now.”

What? 

Hawks still didn’t move. The lack of reaction was beginning to get to the man’s nerves, his hands balling into fists as he contemplated what action to take next. You stayed mostly hidden behind Hawks, anxiously looking past his wings.

When he accepted that the nomu wasn’t going to move, and forcing his way past him was too dangerous of an option, he smirked. “Fine, then. You’re only making yourself look worse. I’m certain I can convince them to move forward with that operation after they see how defiant you’re being right now.”

No! You feel so damn useless. The bastard wanted to change him into something more compliant. How much would that change Hawks himself? You don’t know if there’s anything you can do that won’t just end with you being thrown into the lion’s den. 

The doctor placed two fingers to his temple. Fuck, his quirk. 

“Backup needed in South Hall, room five o’ ni-”

He stopped. Pure shock took over his face, words replaced with the faintest choked sounds. You truly considered asking if he was feeling alright.

Until a thin line of red appeared at his throat, blood oozing out, the bleeding getting heavier by the second.

“What. The. Fuck?”  Your breaths were becoming too short as you watched him crumple, the liquid crimson quickly pooling around him. “What the fuck is going on?”

The confusion and fear was making you delirious. God, you were going to pass out again, this is too fucking much, this asshole was about to take you away because you have a monster growing inside you and then he was going to turn Hawks into a regular High End but now he’s dead but who the fuck killed him and what’s about to happen to you-

“Calm.”

A large hand on your shoulder grounds you, steadying your breathing and expanding your tunnel vision. Hawks is in front of you, releasing soft coos.

“Wha–how–wha…” Your shaky lips are unable to form words, but he seems to understand. Something materializes right in front of you. Small, black, and sharp. It’s a feather, floating between the both of you. “What?” You finally spit out.

“Camouflage,” that’s all he says, as if that explains everything. Since when was he able t-

Whatever. There’s too much shit happening right now.

Still shaking, you look to see the doctor still bleeding, some of the blood flowing into the engravings and painting them red.

“Y-you killed him?” You whisper.

He nods, staring apathetically at the body.

“But, I thought you didn’t…” You trailed off, too stunned by everything that has happened to finish.

He turned his attention back to you, red irises – as red as the blood that continued flow – staring into your frightened eyes. “It gets easier.”

Once again,  you’re not sure what to say to that.

He looks to the door. “More coming soon.”

Right, whoever the doctor was contacting must be wondering why his telepathy was suddenly cut off.

“I want to leave.”

“Leave? Like, you want to escape?” Another nod. “That’s...I don’t know if that’s possible. There are villains around here. Strong villains. Shit, they might release some of the nomu on us!” 

“You want to stay?”

Your mouth opens, then closes.

“I’m strong, and fast.” His wings unfurl and sharpen every feather, his tail curling around you so that you can see the knifelike plumes on it. “Can heal very fast and blend in. Can do a lot.”

The display and simple explanation reminds you that you haven’t seen any of his combative skills firsthand. This is what they made him for.

Well then…

“Right, then how about we give them a final test?” Just when you were finally calming down, adrenaline is already being pumped back into your veins. “Let’s show them how unstoppable their latest work is.”

His little peep of agreement nearly ruined the moment, but it reminds you why you’ve grown so fond of him.

He turns around and crouches, motioning you to climb onto his back and wrap your arms around his neck. It was awkward, mostly due to the wings that you were squishing under you, but when you voiced your worries he just gave you an “It’s fine.” He warned you to hang on extra tightly whenever he gets low to the ground. He’s a much faster runner on all fours.

Stepping over the corpse that has bled dry, he stopped at the door and braced himself. 

“Ready?”

Your arms and legs were secured around him. You breathed in through your nose then out through your mouth. 

Breath in. Breathe out.

A lot of death and destruction is probably about to come your way.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

It would be great if you never had to fill another jar ever again.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Your clammy skin hasn’t felt sunlight in fucking forever. Are the heroes even still alive out there?

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You try not to think about what’s happening in your womb.

“I’m ready.”

The door is pushed open. 

x---x---x---x---x

Targets first spotted at 12:50

The old surveillance cameras flicker and lag. It makes noticing the running black figure all the more difficult. On most screens, you’ll see nothing more than a blur. There will be the occasional confrontation with villains, sometimes accompanied by researchers with incapacitation quirks. More often than not, the escapees easily outmaneuver them, crawling and leaping on every surface and zooming past their potential captors before they can even follow.

Some of the stronger villains and nomu slow the duo down only briefly before they collapse from an unseen force. The recovered bodies possessed deep cuts across major arteries or accurate punctures in their major organs.

Some footage shows the two sometimes climbing into vents, temporarily escaping the cameras.

The woman on the High End’s back was injured during the fatal showdown at the hospital’s exit, enraging it to the point where it swiftly killed everyone in its vicinity, including fleeing researchers that were only caught in the crossfire.

Targets escaped facility at 13:09

x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

SUBJECT HAS ESCAPED. NOMU IS HIGHLY DANGEROUS. TAKE EVERY PRECAUTION IN RETRIEVING IT.

Some things are too good to be true. It turned out that Raptor’s brain has, shall we say, faulty wiring. Several observations have noted him hesitating upon certain commands. This should not be a constant problem with any High End. I don’t understand why they did not immediately work on this issue. It’s possible that they feared irreversible changes to his unique mind.

I personally believe that many of these flaws are the result of a compassionate host. The hero Hawks was unmistakably a gifted combatant, probably the most gifted individual the facility has gotten their hands on, but his attitude did not translate well into the role of a nomu. On the bright side, I never thought I’d ever see nomu, let alone a High End, show such genuine fondness over a human. I believe it’s worth another try in the future.

But for now, we should stick to what works. There are more than enough lowly criminals to go around.