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abyssyby · 2 months ago

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maybe a turtle

— Kyros thinks his papa is a ghost, but he's not afraid. Wherever Sylus runs, his son will always follow.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: it's kyros's turn!! sylus & kyros!! >0< just wanna say thank you so much for all the love and enthusiasm youve been showing the little twins. theyre so so fun to write about, and im glad there are people out there who enjoy reading about them too. i hope you enjoy this one! ❀-urs

important heads up for context of this story: kyros is (my headcanon) 1/2 of sylus's twin boys. also around 4 years in this one! ᡣ𐭩 read kyros's twin's chapter here ᡣ𐭩

sylus & kyros | sylus x reader | angst, fluff, comfort, sylus's son showing him that there will always be people missing him, dad!sylus, mom!reader

Kyros is scarily quiet. With everyone’s world so bustling and busy, he is often overlooked when he is just standing there. Walking so slowly, his footfalls were silent on tile and carpet. Each step is planted on the ground with care and patience.

Dark crimson eyes open for observing rather than knowing. Still trying to learn the earth beneath his feet and taking his sweet, mellow time with its wonders.

In his world: his brother Lucian is a fluttering bird, always moving, above the ground, and looming larger than his size. Coming down to make sure to tell Kyros all he sees.

His big brothers Kieran and Luke are music, loud and harmonious. Bounding around him when they play, moving him and carrying him like a melody. Making him feel an immense joy knowing they are around.

His mama is apple juice, sweet and comforting. Arms ready to take him in her embrace and sprinkle kisses over his cheeks like the sparkling bubbles in his sippy cup. Kind eyes and a pretty smile, enough to calm big feelings in his little heart. Make him feel safe.

And his papa is a ghost.

Papa’s presence is carefully threaded into the tapestry of his day. When his eyes open, Sylus is already there to lift him out of his crib for breakfast. When he waddles up to his papa’s bedroom or office door, without so much as a knock, Sylus is already opening it and lifting Kyros up in his embrace. When he’s out of the house— papa’s music plays in the study, papa’s food is in the fridge, papa’s scent is on the couch.

But papa has been busier these past few days, leaving early in the morning, returning too late at night for Kyros to run up to him at the door anymore. Although Sylus never leaves without sneaking into his bedroom to say goodbye with a kiss on his pudgy cheek or his hair, Kyros just thinks he’s hiding somewhere he cannot reach.

And each day, he feels that absence.

For the past few days, he’s asked, “Mama, where papa goes?”

And mama says the same thing, “On a mission, angel.”

So he pads over to the couch, on papa’s spot and waits. He wanders by his dizzy-spinning-CD’s and listens to his music. He nibbles on the cookies and crumbs he left in the meantime. Until he comes back. Until Kyros can find him again.

Papa is a ghost and Kyros is constantly trying to catch him.

But Sylus isn’t running away. So when he is caught, he submits to the whims of his little hunter.

“Got you.” Sylus startles at the voice. It was too late in the night for anyone in his family to be up still on a quiet weekend. He’d just gotten home from a mission across cities, ones that left his neck with a crick and his head aching with the incompetence of the people he was with.

So it was a surprise to find Kyros out of the blue, in the dead of night, waddling into the study. Soon, he is climbing up on Sylus’s lap, slowly grabbing a crease in his shirt, hauling his body up the legs, and wriggling to right himself to sit upright. Wedging himself between his papa and his papa’s work.

“Hello, Kyros.” Sylus says, lips already drawn to his head in a tender kiss. “‘Got’ me?”

Kyros clasps his hands together, clapping like he was catching a bug. “Like dis.”

“Mm.” Sylus pushes away from the desk and curls his arms around his son’s body, unconsciously drawing him against his belly. “Papa is a mosquito?”

Kyros smiles a little, releases a breezy little giggle like wind chimes on a warm summer day. “No. Papa not mosquito.”

Sylus’s heart flutters at the sound. “Then why did you catch me—“ he imitates the catching with one large hand. “—like this?”

Kyros lingers on the metaphor a little longer. Watching his own hands open and close, distracted by how they move. Sylus notices and imitates the movement with him while he waits for a response.

Finally, it comes when Sylus closes his hand around Kyros’s little fingers, drawing him back to the conversation. “Gotcha.”

Kyros laughs again, prying large fingers off his hand and then patting them. Sylus asks again, wriggling his fingers over his happy, squeezed-crescent eyes. “Why did you catch me, angel?”

Kyros catches his hand and hugs it to his chest. His tone is patient, like how you would explain how soup is meant to be cooled down before you slurp, but with the hint of you should know obviousness. “Is i’cause you quick, papa.”

“I’m quick.” Sylus nods, affirming his ideas. “Papa has long legs.”

“I haves tiny-tiny legs.” Kyros runs with the thought. “And i’cause Kyros is slow.”

Sylus’s lips quirk. “Slow? My Kyros?”

“A-huh. Like turtle.” he’s moving again, small hands petting against Sylus’s chest, head bobbing side to side to imitate a turtle’s scooting on the sand.

“I see.” Sylus has seen you read the boys that book before bedtime. Lucian asked all the questions and acted out all the running. Kyros always just sat there and blinked like he was downloading your voice. “And is papa the hare?”

He thinks a little, looking up at Sylus like he was picturing him with big ears and buck teeth. He shakes his head at the image. “No, papa is papa.”

“Ah,” Sylus tilts his head, considering. “I mean, is papa like the hare? Fast?”

Kyros nods then, getting the semantics now. “Papa like’a hare. And— and like a horse. And a race car. And flyin' ‘Pisto.”

Sylus chuckles something sincere, finds rest in his son’s voice listing the many fast things he is like. His presence was a calm rush of fresh water over his aching bones. It doesn’t even cross his mind that he snuck out of his bedroom past his bedtime. He just listens, breathes him in, grateful. For being a tether to follow back home from being someone other than papa.

He’s here, he promises, he’s listening. Despite the way his arms begin to slacken around Kyros’s body. Despite the way his eyes droop slowly, and the voice he listens to sounds like it’s wandering further down a tunnel he cannot see the end to. Slowly being engulfed by the crackling fire in its hearth. He takes a deep breath, he’s listening… so close to sleep—

“… and leave Kyros behind.” Ice runs through his veins.

Bleary eyed, but alert, he blinks at Kyros in confusion. “What… what was that, Kyros?”

Kyros is already staring up when he peers down. There’s a look on his face that resembles when he is about to get in trouble. He’d heard the tone of Sylus’s voice, and if his children are anything they are incredibly perceptive.

So Sylus breathes, meets him where he was and tries again. “You think papa leaves you behind?”

The look of guilt on Kyros’s face remains as he nods. He doesn’t know just why he feels bad for telling Sylus the truth, only feels that something has changed. The quiet isn’t so warm anymore, and papa is taking careful breathing breaths like he does when he’s a little scared.

And Sylus slips, fall headfirst down a mudslide of his own painful thoughts. Suddenly, every moment with Kyros leading up to now is a focal point— why did he stay awake until he got back? why would he say these things if he did not feel it so strongly? why would he look so sad, so betrayed at the thought if it weren’t true?

And the truth— Sylus is so used to being a shadow if not the wind, of smoke and feathers, of disappearing without notice, of leaving no crumbs to follow. Of being alone.

Even after all these years, he still fails to remember that he is no longer who he was. No longer a beast in isolation, no longer a monster that is feared.

Now, he is a partner, a father. And the people who look for him aren’t always trying to kill him. And the people who witness his absence do not celebrate it, but miss his presence.

The people who need him now need him not for his wealth or his power or his influence— they just need him. To be present, to be loving, to be here.

And now he knows, he is told, that he might be failing at that too. He opens his mouth to speak— apologize, explain, fix, something—but Kyros beats him to it.

“Papa,” Kyros says carefully. He’s sensed the turmoil. The way papa, again, has disappeared despite being here in front of him. He rises to his knees, reaching up to plant his hands on Sylus’s cheeks— just as mama does— and ushers him back. “Papa, wait for me.”

Sylus is thrown another blow to the gut. Another world-shattering glimpse into the true meaning of his son’s presence here now.

Sylus doesn’t just disappear physically. He runs, sprints, shoots off emotionally too. Leaving his family for the tide of shame that consumes him. Leaving his son to wonder what he said wrong that made him drift away once more.

“Kyros…” he swallows, voice so soft it breaks at the edges. Chooses words carefully. His large hands come up to cradle soft cheeks back as he whispers, “Papa is here. I’m here, angel.”

Kyros’s face brightens at the touch. The way Sylus squeezes his face fondly. “Hi, papa.”

His poor heart shatters. His eyes prickle and his nose burns. He overturns all the memories and things he's done in his life to deserve this— and helplessly finds nothing. And yet, here he is. He rasps, “Hello, Kyros.”

“Papa waiting?”

“Papa waiting.”

“Papa wait and—and Kyros catch.” Kyros pats his hands gently on Sylus’s cheeks this time, literally catching father’s rough edges in his soft, tiny palms. Unknowingly catching his unwinding sanity, his breaking heart, and his fraying soul too.

It floors him, drives him into the ground in a harsh wreck. How once he held Kyros’s newborn frame in a cradle of his two hands. And now, somehow, Kyros holds the entire weight of him.

And to Kyros, it feels like he weighs nothing at all.

Sylus watches fondly. His son, with his eyes and his hair, but your determined expression. Your patience. Your understanding. Your forgiveness. Your love.

This gift, you’ve carefully poured into this boy, who now generously douses him with it.

“Kyros will always catch papa?” his voice shakes when he asks, deft fingers brushing messy hair away from sparkling eyes. A hope. A wish.

Kyros takes a while to answer questions only because he likes the thinking part of it all, but for this one, he answers immediately. “Yes. I good at it.”

His eyes close and his breath returns to him. He bows his head in his hold; a dragon succumbing to his hunter. He agrees.

Kyros is always looking enough to see, smart enough to notice, patient enough to understand, and slow— devastatingly and achingly slow enough for Sylus to realize and do the same, to feel the same. To be pulled into his orbit as a planet to the slow burning sun.

The lump in his throat melts and trickles away. Feels a wound once poorly stitched—reopened, disinfected and bound together again with better trappings by smaller, gentler hands.

Of which their owner is trusting because he knows nothing else. And his son proves time and time again that his failures in this life and the last or any other life before, does not equate to the man they see now. Does not carry over to his papa.

Kyros asks for nothing, but for him to wait. To be caught. To slow down. To stay.

The tears fall before he even takes notice. He doesn’t pull away or hide. He practices what he is asked for. He keeps still, and tilts his forehead to make contact with his son’s. “Thank you, Kyros.”

Kyros presses back, unsure why papa is crying, but happy with his touch. His presence. Clumsy fingers wipe away salty tears, which Sylus’s lips chase with kisses. “You welcome, papa.”

He vows then, in the tranquil bubble his son has created for them, that he even when he cannot figure out what he did to deserve him, he will be what he deserves. A ghost that can be caught. A hare that celebrates the turtle’s wins.

“What can papa do for you, my turtle?” he scoops the little boy up by the armpits and lets him rest on the crook of his elbow.

Kyros presses his nose to Sylus’s jaw and hums. An all too familiar action again from a bigger, more motherly source. “Apple juice, pease?”

“Before bedtime?” Sylus asks, voice lilting in amusement. Though he’s already pushing his chair back and standing, with every intention to deliver.

Kyros blinks back, eyes mirthful and sparkling. Sylus’s chest caves, he is brought to his knees at the sight. His fingers come up to pinch full cheeks, having a mind of their own.

“Ma bub, pease?” Sylus laughs, loud and resonant, at your tactics of persuasion making their way to your children now. My love’s lips press adoring kisses to his temple.

Kyros wounds his short arms around Sylus’s neck, giggling like he knows he is his powerful and untouchable father’s weakness. Ever grateful for his presence, a too big feeling for his too little body to make sense of for now. But it is there.

The halls echo the sound of humming, deep and rusty— a practiced lullaby whose notes are bent and twisted, but perfectly aligned to the little ears that listen.

And Sylus walks slowly, his footfalls muted against the tile and carpet. Memorizing the current weight of his too-quickly growing baby against his chest, the warmth of his breath against his collar and the tenderness of his embrace. Ceaselessly chasing these moments so as not to miss a single one. Remembering to be still once he is there.

He clings just as much as Kyros does to this love— gentle, quiet, here— if not more.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Hate ‘ishuns!” Kyros’s voice pulls you from the trenches of sleep. You make a tired, inquisitive sound like you were simply lost in the conversation.

“Hmm?”

“Shh,” he is scolded. For a moment there is quiet again, and just the static in the air, and so you start to drift once more.

“No more ‘ishuns, papa,” Kyros harrumphs and now you open your eyes to the dim light. Beside you, Sylus is seated up against the headboard with Kyros on his stomach— both wide eyed and guilty.

You release a deep breath. “Apple juice, Sylus?”

Sylus winces at your tone. “He said ‘my love’.”

“and pease.” Kyros adds.

“We’ll go, sweetie,” Sylus offers, moving to scoot off the bed, bring their little late night conversation elsewhere.

He plants a kiss to your forehead, and so does Kyros. But neither gets far, for despite your sleep laden haze, your grip is strong on Sylus’s arm. “No. Stay.”

Kyros clears his throat.

You sigh fondly. “Please.”

And so they do.

✧˚ ⋆｡ prev: maybe a dragon (lucian) || read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you for reading!

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bongopowder · 7 months ago

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looking for trouble! (hisoka)

⁺ . ✦ .　⁺ 　 . ✦ hunter x hunter (hisoka x reader) ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺

content (18+): nsfw, female reader, hunter exam, zevil island, deep in the forest, degrading, bungee gum bondage?

word count: 4.6k

a tune for you: rule #34 (fish in a birdcage)

The darkness encompassing the indigo forest would be enough to unnerve a weary traveler, to send shivers down an unsuspecting spine, just as the touch of the cold night air nips at exposed skin. To others, however, its representation differs. Perhaps it’s an austere simplicity. The night: homogenous, consistent, peaceful even; a harmonious change from day. Or maybe it’s scandalous. A break from the life which you return to in the rather unsuspecting morning.

Zevil Island was about what you expected; lush trees extended far into the distance, speckled with occasional plains, mountainous rocks, and deceptively peaceful beaches. As the moon casts its glow amongst the scene, drowning every winter leaf and blade of grass with a mysterious sheet of pale blue light, the soft flutter of butterfly wings mingles with the whistling of wind, surrounding you as you walk.

The faint hoot of an owl sounds in the distance, and your breathing grows calmer. Looking down, you study the two badges in your hand: #174 and #105, yours and your target’s. You caught him out in the beginning, a large man with a red nose and a sword, tracking him to a field of tall grass after leaving the boat. Unbeknownst to him, you hid in the shadows, lurking deep in the thick branches of an oak tree until the sun set just below the horizon, casting the subtle gloom of dusk over the meadow.

It was over in a second, the creeping darkness and growing exhaustion hindering his senses as you stalked, hidden by the tall blades of grass. His body fell to the floor with a thud, the sound softened by the dense foliage below, and you quickly swiped the badge from his satchel.

That was mere hours ago. And now, the darkness had crept up on you, just as you had to him.

Yawning, you continue your walk through the trees, somewhat overconfident as you stride down the path which winds between trunks, leading you deeper into the forest. Your only task now is to find a place to hide, to ride out the next few days in peace, safe and away from whoever may be targeting you. Peace and quiet.

“Hey.”

Damn it.

The sound makes you stop in your tracks, eyes shooting up from the ground, seeing a figure up ahead, peeking through the foliage. Your hand instinctively moves straight to the knife in your belt.

Hisoka.

You narrow your eyes as you approach, knowing it would be useless to run from him. You meet his gaze, his stare piercing into you as he fingers a card, leaning casually against a nearby tree. There’s something behind those eyes: a sinister desire. For blood, no less.

Hisoka the Magician, nothing but a merciless killer, scheming and preying on those weaker. And they stand no chance, like a cat and a mouse. A cat with a fetish for carnage. A cat who likes to play with his food.

But you are no mouse.

You had encountered him before, in the sticky fog of the Misty Wetlands, where the heavy air sat deep within your lungs. You were close to the second stage, mind fuzzy as you continued to run, recalling nothing but the sensation of sitting, laying down, or simply standing still. That is, until you stumbled upon Gon’s neck in Hisoka’s hand.

It was an altercation. Hands. Knives. A fishing rod.

And those words he spoke to you, still ringing in your ears as he finally let you go.

You passed.

“I don’t want trouble,” you utter hesitantly, finally reaching the small courtyard with a hand up, approaching cautiously, ready to strike at any moment.

“And what if I do?” he smirks, pushing himself from the tree and making his way towards you. With a hand on his hip, he saunters closer, broad shoulders swaying as he walks.

“I’m not your target.”

“How can you be so sure?” he crosses his arms slyly, flicking the card back in his pocket.

“105 was my target, and I was his,” you pause, growing slightly nervous. You can feel an energy, a craving, a radiating force coming from his body. Something pent up, about to explode. “I’ll tell you what I know about your target, just let me leave.”

“Hmm…” he hums, eyes narrowing further as a smile creeps up on his thin lips. “Your two badges are still worth something to me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, your mind reeling in dread. You can’t beat him; at least, you don’t think you can. You’ve seen what he can do, what options do you really have? The surrounding trees may offer cover, but he’d surely run you down.

“You wouldn’t come out unscathed,” you say after clearing your throat, the blunt words spoken with a slight apprehensive tone. “And you’d need a third badge too.”

His hand moves to his chin and he hums, that devilish smile still plastered on his damned face. He’s already decided something.

“What if we came to an… arrangement?” he proposes, stepping closer as he lets out the soft huff of a chuckle. “An agreement in which we both stand to gain something… and you can leave with both your badges.”

Your stomach turns with anxiety at his words. Nothing could ever be so easy.

“What kind of arrangement?” you ask, almost knowing you might regret it, the words coming out in a hoarse whisper, caught deep in your throat.

He grins, a fisherman who just felt a tug on his line. Slowly, he reaches out his hand, palm upwards, extending his pointer finger out to you.

Within a second, he snaps it back, a beckoning call which somehow sends you flying ten feet forwards straight into him. Your face hits his chest, your body crashing into his as your hands instinctively move up to try to lessen the blow.

“What the-”

“You see,” he sighs dramatically, interrupting your complaint and wrapping one arm tightly around your waist to hold you against him. “I’ve found myself in quite the bind… a predicament, one may say. So much built up with no way to release it…”

Your eyes widen as you feel the slight touch of his fingers grazing up your neck, his other hand still firmly holding you in place, your hips tightly pressed against him. Immediately, heat travels straight to your cheeks as you look up into his narrowed eyes.

“I… you don’t mean…” you stutter.

“I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now, haven’t you?” he smirks as his fingers snake around your neck, his touch firm. Your breath catches as they tighten, and he begins to slowly back you up against a nearby tree, the rough bark tickling the back of your scalp. “I haven’t killed anyone in days…”

You watch his chest rise and fall, his breaths growing quicker, lips parted slightly. And those eyes – dull and clouded with a repressed haze – bare into your soul, scanning every element of your face.

Swallowing, you too let your gaze fall along his face, his body, those muscular arms which hold you against the trunk. What am I doing? This is a terrible idea…

“What’ll it be?” he huffs impatiently, grip tightening as he leans in, causing you to gasp. “You leave in the morning, both badges in hand. As if nothing happened.”

His breath is hot against your ear, rough with his smoldering passion. You freeze, heart racing in nervousness, or… excitement? You can’t tell, and it only makes you feel worse.

To kill… to fuck… is it all the same to him?

The silence is unsettling; his hand remains on your neck, the hold unwavering as a soft dusk breeze makes its way through the forest, rustling leaves along the way.

“Okay…” you steady your voice, looking up into his eyes. “It’s a deal.”

A smile flickers across his face for a fleeting moment, but within an instant, his lips are crashing against yours, hungry and desperate. He lets out a soft sound against your mouth, something between a growl and a moan, as he pulls your hips forward, further into his.

“Good choice…” he murmurs as his grip on your throat releases and his fingers snake backwards, the feeling of sharp nails trailing along your sensitive skin making you wince. Your head snaps back as he pulls your hair, and within a moment his mouth is on your neck. He plants hot, messy kisses along your flesh, occasionally grazing his teeth across you, as if holding himself back from taking a bite.

The cool breeze tickles your neck, now wet with a thin layer of saliva, sending a faint shiver down your spine. Apprehensively, you reach your hand up to the nape of his neck, sliding your fingers through his hair, unintentionally pressing his face closer to your skin.

He groans, and you feel the harsh pinch of a bite at the base of your neck. His hands travel down to your hips, now pulling you away from the tree and backing you up deeper into the forest, the path out of sight.

“Wouldn’t want to be interrupted,” he murmurs between breaths, his mouth moving up to plant kisses along your jaw.

You watch in the darkness as he pulls back, his eyes scanning the environment behind you, expression lighting up for a moment. Without a warning, he pushes you backward, sending you stumbling down into the thick grass below, the dampness of the vegetation cold against your hands as you hit the floor.

He grins, walking closer and leaning over your body between your legs, the moon above disappearing as he steps in front of it, like an eclipse. The white rays of moonlight create a blurry haze around his silhouette, his body a looming shadow above you.

Oh, he’s not gonna be gentle…

Crouching down, his face just inches from yours, he lets his eyes wander over your body fully, taking in your entire form. Your chest, rising and falling swiftly. Your eyes, wide in anticipation. Your hands, propping you up slightly as you rest in the thick grass.

“You’re scared…?”

His question is rhetorical; he knows you’re terrified. Terrified of him and terrified of the consequences. And yet, there’s something that draws you in, something that keeps you from running. Something…

“Does it matter?” you whisper, eyes meeting his through your eyelashes.

“No,” he smirks with a shrug, now moving to settle between your legs, his arm reaching behind you on the grass, steadying himself as he gets onto his knees. “It’s more fun that way.”

As the last words leave his mouth, he captures your mouth in another kiss, his lips moving furiously against yours. You slowly let yourself fall back into the grass, hands gripping his shirt as you pull him down with you. Sounds of soft pleasure fill the air, your senses heightened, feeling the soft skin of his face against yours and the dry tack of his face paint tickling your nose.

You’re just as desperate for it now, your desire snowballing with every kiss, touch, breath. It’s wrong and dirty and indecent but you just can’t help yourself, his body pressing yours deeper into the ground.

And then the movement starts, his hips grinding into yours as he uses a hand to pry your thighs apart. The sudden friction sends a jolt of electricity through your body, a small sound escaping your lips but immediately captured by his.

He lets out a deep breath, his arousal growing more intense as he continues his movement into your hips, one hand keeping you pressed against the grass. Your arms wrap around his body, fingers sinking into the soft fabric of his shirt, tugging at it urgently.

A thin string of saliva connects your lips to his as he pulls back, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head and exposing his bare chest to you. His muscles, accentuated under the moonlight, tense slightly as the brisk air hits him.

He leans back in, eyes trained to yours as he tosses his clothes to the side. His hands move to your shirt, not waiting for confirmation before pulling it and over your head, nearly ripping the fabric with his urgency.

You shiver, unable to decide if the reason lies within your exposure to him or the elements, and you fall back to the grass.

“Forgetting something?” Hisoka teases as he slips a finger under the bridge of your bra, lifting your back from the ground as he pulls it towards him. His other hand slides behind you, his fingers working to unhook the clasp.

You feel the color rush to your cheeks as he drops your undergarment to the side, his eyes hungrily trailing down to your exposed chest. He continues to study you for a moment, his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek as he lets his gaze roam down, and down… and down.

Oh.

Your pants are already being torn off, the coarse fabric quickly sliding down your legs as he tugs them up in the air.

Instinctively, you tuck your knees, pressing your thighs together nervously as he kneels in front of you, eyes still taking in your appearance in silence. It feels demeaning, degrading, dirty, the way he looks at you. And something about it makes heat pool between your legs.

He stands, his fingers slipping under the waistband of his own pants, tugging them down just enough to see his v-line peeking out from the pale fabric.

“Get on your knees.”

His demand rings though your ears, the hum of sound clouding your thoughts. It’s as if your body moves on its own, fueled by nothing but inherent lust and scandal, your knees digging into the dirt as you look up at him.

You tug his pants further down, desperate for him, to feel him, to tastehim. He smirks, allowing you to remove it, letting the fabric fall to his ankles.

The resulting sight makes your breath catch in your throat, your eyes widening as they stare, unmoving from him. The size is…

“Make it fit.”

Your stomach drops, not in fear, but rather sensuality: the thrill of desire. Moving in, you waste no time giving him what he wants, your tongue running up the length of him, pausing gently at his tip and moving back and forth, a slight saltiness spreading throughout your mouth.

Hisoka grows more restless, his breathing staggering, the air caught in his throat as you toy with him.

“Get on with it,” he growls, his hand quickly grasping your hair at the scalp, pulling your face closer to him.

You smirk, eyes not leaving his as you lick a long, thick stipe up your palm, saliva glistening in the night. Your hand moves forward, gripping his cock and beginning to move, tantalizingly, back and forth.

He groans, his fingers intertwining further into your hair and sharp nails scraping against your scalp.

You move slowly, teasing him further with your tongue, taking him deeper, an inch at a time as your hand continues to work at his base. The pressure builds in your mouth, your jaw opening to accommodate him as you continue, almost choking and gagging.

As your lips touch him, taking him in, he lets out a straggled moan, strong arms forcing your head forward again, more and more, until you’ve taken his entire length in your mouth. You grip his thighs, feeling him hit the back of your throat and push harder. You twist, making him fit.

And then he pulls you back, just as you had gotten the chance to adjust. That is, before he thrusts your face into him again, and again, and again. It’s aggressive and violent, his grunts growing louder with every push, his hips moving forwards to meet your face, forcing himself even deeper into your mouth.

You feel tears blurring your vision, unable to feel anything except the sensation deep in your throat, the pain of him hitting against you, but the pleasure of knowing what you’re doing to him.

The muscles of his thighs under your grip begin to tighten more frequently, his gasps and moans growing more desperate.

“Fuck…” he grumbles under his breath, the word barely distinguishable from the series of pleasurable sounds caught deep in his throat, just as he is caught in yours.

He pulls you back by your hair, a strangled grunt escaping his lips, lips which immediately twist into a scheming smile. With his other hand, he places his finger under your chin, using his thumb to wipe the stray saliva dripping from the side of your mouth.

You fall onto your back, pushed back into the grass by Hisoka as he straddles your body. He leans in, mouth finding yours in a kiss as he positions himself over you, sliding his hands along your bare arms outwards, his hands meeting yours. After just a moment, he pulls his hands back, running them back up your arms, one finding your breast and the other, your hip.

You shift to move your hand, but it’s stuck. You tug and pull, furrowing your brow and pulling back from the kiss to glance to the side, staring at your hand, almost cemented to the ground.

“Why can’t I move-”

You’re immediately silenced, Hisoka’s finger moving to your lips, a sly smile plastered on his face.

“Don’t concern yourself with such trivial matters such as your hands…” he whispers, kissing at your jawline as if nothing happened.

The wet sensation draws your attention back to the moment, forgetting about your hands, or lack thereof. He moves again, positioning one leg between yours, pressing down into your body. You move your body up and closer to his as you begin to buckle your hips against his thigh, craving stimulation.

He smirks against your mouth, feeling your slick against his thigh as he continues to kiss you. Suddenly, he shifts his position, moving his other leg between yours. One of his hands travels to your hip, pushing you further into the ground.

“Such a dirty slut for me, aren’t you?” he purrs, his mouth pulling away from yours as his hand moves from your hip, trailing down to your inner thigh. You shiver, eyes meeting his in the starlight, a shadow looming over his face.

He slides a finger up, gently skimming along your skin as he makes his way closer to your core. His finger moves further up, teasing your folds, his touch far from gentle.

“Ah-” you dig your head into his shoulder, your hands gripping at the dirt as he continues to move his finger. Your eyes widen as you feel his sharp nail graze against your clit, the pain and stimulation sending a shudder through your body.

“Careful-” your forced whisper is quickly halted as he moves two fingers into you, slipping easily inside your throbbing pussy. You tighten around him, your heels and hips digging deeper into the dirt as your muscles contract.

It’s messy, inconsistent, almost selfish. He moves his fingers deeper inside of you, forcing small sounds of pleasurable pain from your lips, as if he cares not for your satisfaction, and only for what you can do for him.

After only a moment, he removes his fingers from inside of you, sliding them seductively up and across your neglected clit. They continue their journey up, sliding along your navel, sternum, and up to your neck.

“Clean them,” he demands suddenly, not waiting for a reply and shoving his fingers into your mouth, the tips pressing down into your tongue.

You let out a soft groan, the sound catching in your throat as his fingers muffle you, that is, before you begin to suck and lick him clean. Your tongue moves across and between his sticky fingers, lapping up your wetness from his skin.

As you continue to work at his fingers, he spreads your thighs further apart with his legs, settling between them. His fingers push further down against your tongue, eliciting a small whine from you.

You gasp as you feel him between your folds again, the tip of his cock sliding back and forth against you, lubricated with your slick.

He finally removes himself from your mouth, his hand now resting beside your head on the grass. His body remains pressed against yours, his hips stopping their movement as they slide back, positioning his tip at your entrance.

You bite back a moan in anticipation, pursing your lips as you look up at him, hovering over you.

“Beg for it,” his mouth twists into a smart grin.

“Please…” the word leaves your mouth before you can even register how degrading the situation is. You’re simply too frustrated, too needy. “I want you so bad… please…”

“Say my name,” he whispers close to your ear, his own breathing unsteady as he processes your words. “I want this whole island to hear you.”

“H-Hiso-”

The rest catches in your throat, the sensation of him slowly entering you drawing out a long and straggled moan, mingling with the remnants of a real word. Your fingers tear at the grass below, body contracting as he pushes deeper and deeper, filling you up more than you thought possible.

The movement begins, slowly at first, then speeding up in aggressive desperation. Your head throws back in pleasure, unable to tell if the stars you see above are real ones or not. Hisoka grunts with every thrust, each one growing in power as his fingers dig into the ground beside your head.

And the dirt. It coats your hair as he rocks you back and forth, stuck to the strands with the soft grassy dew acting like glue. You bite your lip, stifling a desperate moan into the night, knowing anyone could be in the surrounding forest.

Hisoka’s hand moves to your neck again, giving you no time to process as he tightens his fingers around you, using you as leverage to fuck you even harder.

“What did I tell you?” he grumbles through his clenched jaw, his pace unwavering. “I want to hear you.”

You oblige, forcing yourself to whisper his name, focusing on nothing else than the word, trying to distract yourself from the tightening around your throat, and the pounding in your stomach. It feels as though your organs are moving, shifting positions to accommodate his selfish length.

“Louder,” he growls.

You try, raising your voice as he continues to grind his hips against yours, his movement losing coordination as time progresses, growing less calculated, more carnal.

It really does feel like he wants to kill you.

You feel the pressure building within you, in time with the tightening of fingers around your neck. Vision growing hazy but body taught with pleasure, you manage to stutter.

“H-Hisoka… I can’t…” Your throat closes tighter, silencing you again.

“I don’t care,” he grunts, his breathing signifying he’s close to the edge. He has no plans of stopping…

You should hate it. It should scare you, terrify you even. The thought of dying: fucked to death on a deserted island by a man who cares not to even learn your name. But your body doesn’t work alongside your rational thoughts.

The constant rhythm, the stimulation, the force, it all comes to a climax.

Your body shakes, his name on your tongue as you feel the release. You tighten around him, your head digging back into the ground, just as he lets out a strangled gasp.

His hand releases your neck as he pushes his lips into yours, his hips moving as he rides out the waves of pleasure. You capture each other’s moans, drowning them in the sheer force of the kiss, passionate and feverous, as messy as anything coming before it.

A final gasp escapes your lips as your body relaxes, growing limp under his as your muscles twitch with remnant stimulations. He pulls his lips back from yours, gliding them against your jaw, his head eventually moving to settle beside yours, with his forehead pressed against the grass.

Breathing. In and out. Just the sensation of it feels like a blessing through all the turmoil. The dark of the night feels duller now, the sky softening into a darker gray rather than a piercing black.

The feeling of time passing is indescribable, minutes turning into hours or hours turning into minutes: you can’t tell. You’re sat there, quietly, simply left alone with your thoughts and a heavy body above you, hands still stuck to the floor.

The silence of the forest continues, as if unaware of the chaos, unaware of the fact you were just fucked to an inch of your life, the leaves still rustling with the same rhythm they did hours before. A peeking dawn cracks over the tops of the trees, the sky hinting to shades of purples and oranges in the distance.

“Hmm…” Hisoka hums, picking his head up to see the changing sky, as if waking from a slumber, the new light now highlighting his face in different ways than before. His face paint is smeared, no thanks to your nose and his sweat, with small pieces having been chipped away. And his hair. His hair has flattened, small pieces falling in front of his face, contrasting their normal pushed-back appearance.

He pushes himself off you, his abs clenching as he lifts himself up, standing up fully with a deep breath. Leaning down, he wipes the slight tint of brown dirt from his knees, the grass and soil falling back to rest on the ground, leaving him completely clean, a different sight from you. In silence, he delicately gathers his clothes, scattered across the grass in different places, putting each item back on, casually but with concentration, eyes no longer darting to you as you watch him, your hands still glued to the ground by some unknown force.

He shrugs his last layer on, smoothing the wrinkles of his shirt as his hand runs across the clove and spade on the front of the fabric before settling on his badge, #44. He straightens it out delicately before adjusting his clothing one more time. As he does, he stares off into the trees, through the dense trucks and into the fading darkness.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” he finally says, sighing and waving his hand dismissively as he walks away. With that, your hands are free again, the pressure releasing and allowing you to move your wrists. You gasp, immediately sitting up onto your palms as you watch him, walking back through the forest and to the established path, already beginning to smooth his hair again. Without another word, he disappears into the foliage, his footsteps growing softer and softer as time passes. And then, silence.

And it leaves you: naked, dirty, wet, and disheveled in a patch of grassy soil, blades littered across your body and scattered through your hair. Your breathing slows, the rise and fall of your chest softening as you draw your gaze upwards and to the sky, those warm colors, scaring away the sins of the cold night as they escape to the west, away from the light.

But what could you really have expected?

Perhaps you really were like the others in the end.

Just a mouse.

Happy Birthday Alexis! <3

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh hisoka #hisoka x y/n #hisoka x reader #hisoka x you #hisoka morow #hxh smut #hunter x hunter smut #hunter x hunter x reader #hisoka morow x reader #hunter x hunter x y/n #hunter x hunter x you #hisoka imagine #hisoka smut #hisoka morow smut #hisoka fanfic #hisoka fic

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pomefioredove · 10 months ago

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Request? I'm just thinking about. Rook and idia. With reader that hates being touched. But they are the only exception.

awwweee I like this one

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ one (1) exception

summary: untouchy reader (except for them) type of post: headcanons characters: rook, idia additional info: romantic or platonic, fluffy, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu

the thing is, Idia already knew you didn't like to be touched before you got close. he's a shut-in, not stupid. even with a few interactions, he could pick up on what you were putting down. you wouldn't so much as stand shoulder-to-shoulder with someone, if you could help it. and unlike some of the normies here, he had no interest in trying to change your mind. to him: the more space, the better

and that's where he left it. even after months of friendship, he kept a distance between you

so, you've been sitting a little closer to him lately. so what? that doesn't mean anything

and, yeah, sometimes you hold hands when no one's looking

...and there was that one time you fell asleep on his shoulder and he felt like he couldn't move or think or breathe...

but you're still distant with everyone else!

just close with him!

which means nothing!!!!

(give him some time, he's still getting used to the warmth of another body)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook is a hands-on learner, yes, but he's also an observer. he's seen the way you flinch and shy away from others, and as much as he secretly (or maybe not so secretly) wants to touch you, he's also quite fond of you, and doesn't want to scare you away. you're a delicate specimen, and a hunter such as himself knows to wait

so, he waits... and waits. not for your touch, per se, but for your trust. that, to him, is the greatest hunt of all

but, it's only when he becomes vulnerable to you that you do so in return, and then, you become equals, prey to each other. or perhaps it's more like... the both of you, together, in safety and harmony

whichever sounds most poetic

truth be told, while he may not have come to you with the best of intentions, he's been domesticated by your touch. even something as simple as handholding, fixing your clothes for you, wiping your tears, is tender and good to him

you still won't touch other people

and Rook likes being the exception. he likes having you all to himself

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #idia shroud x reader #rook hunt x reader

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genshin-impact-updates · 1 year ago

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Fulfiller of Commissions, Flame Bearer of the Canopy

"This servant of mine is no fool, and nimble too, as far as servants go. His biggest fault is that, no matter how hard you try, you simply can't get rid of him! I mean it — he literally will not die! Have you ever heard of someone falling headfirst off a cliff and still surviving!? Utterly infuriating!"

— K'uhul Ajaw, the self-proclaimed "Almighty Dragonlord"

◆ Name: Kinich

◆ Title: Turnfire Hunt

◆ Huitztlan Saurian Hunter

◆ Vision: Dendro

◆ Constellation: Chimaera Alebriius

"It's one thing to charge a fee for delivering a letter, but charging for being a flame bearer on Turnfire Night? It's outrageous! Is this really a hero of ours?"

"It's not like you just met him today. Surely you'd admit that he does his job well? That's all that matters."

In Natlan, where humans and Saurians live together in harmony, there have always been some who have looked askance at saurian hunters. In a land full of heroes, their practice of assessing commissions and setting a price makes the profession even more controversial.

A cruel, ruthless, cold-blooded killer... Pragmatic, utilitarian, without so much as a hint of chivalrous decorum... In such heartless, damning terms do people describe the young man that never argues back.

But what of it?

As long as the price is right, all commissions shall be fulfilled in a satisfactory manner; all writhing, raging aberrants returned to the Night Kingdom from whence they came.

Once the bearer of the Turnfire name has locked onto a target, there's no looking back.

#genshin impact #genshin impact updates #genshin impact news #official #kinich #am i tripping or does he look less pale than in the trailers #only slightly of course. of course

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holyraconteur · 4 months ago

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Imagine Spider going into a self-imposed exile not out of bitterness, but as an act of self-preservation and peace. He removes himself from the cycles of pain and resentment that have plagued him since his birth, choosing instead to live in harmony with the forest, and in turn, Eywa embraces him as her own.

Far from the Omatikaya, deep within the heart of the forest, Spider finds solace in a world that neither judges nor expects anything of him. His home is a towering, ancient tree—its roots thick and gnarled, its canopy vast and sheltering. Vines drape like curtains over his modest dwelling, a hammock woven from soft fibers hanging beneath the sturdy boughs. The tree's roots twist into natural pathways, and the inside is hollow, wide enough for him to set up a hammock, to neatly store his few belongings—mostly books gifted by Kiri and tools he’s made himself. Bioluminescent moss glows faintly along the wood, casting everything in a soft, ethereal light.

Each morning, he wakes with the warmth of the sun dappling his skin, the soft rustling of leaves carrying the songs of the wild. He hunts, moving through the underbrush with the silent precision of a hunter, his steps light, his heart steady. He takes only what he needs, offering whispered thanks to Eywa or prayers, his fingers grazing the ferns in reverence as he doodles the fruits and edible plants in the sketchbook Norm had given to him for his birthday.

Unbeknownst to him, Eywa watches over him in ways he cannot see. A predator’s gaze may flick toward his direction, but an unseen whisper diverts it elsewhere. A storm may rage through the forest, yet its fiercest winds and heaviest rains never quite reach his dwelling. His footprints in the damp earth fade almost as soon as they are made.

And he sleeps peacefully, the soft hum of the trees swaying him as if cradled in the hands of the Great Mother herself.

The only soul who knows of his location is Kiri. She finds him, drawn to him as if by instinct—or perhaps by Eywa’s will. She brings him books salvaged from the scientists’ outpost, their pages filled with stories and knowledge of distant worlds, and in return, he tells her of the hidden wonders he's found—the rare blossoms that only bloom in moonlight, the hidden springs untouched by human hands, the secret songs of the creatures he has come to understand.

One day, as she reapplies the blue stripes to his skin, her fingers delicate and sure, she leans in, whispering, “Everyone is searching for you.” Her tail wraps around his waist, a grounding presence, as if she fears he might slip away like a fleeting dream. His friend. His sister.

His twin.

Spider closes his eyes at the thought, exhaling a quiet sigh. They can keep looking. His voice is soft but resolute. I’m happy where I am.

Kiri studied him for a long moment before nodding, a small, knowing smile on her lips. “I will not tell anyone. I am happy that you are happy.”

And so, the world forgets him. But Eywa does not.

And neither does she.

#james cameron avatar #miles spider socorro #spider socorro #avatar 2 #avatar 2009 #avatar kiri #spider got sick of dealing with traumatized adults taking their issues out on him and dipped #he's always taken care of himself but this time he's got kiri and eywa to support him in this new phase of his life

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atlaculture · 1 year ago

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Cultural Architecture: NWT Totem Poles - The Specifics Pt. 2

Among most of the totem poles we see throughout the Northern Water Tribe (NWT), four representations appear consistently throughout. For this post, I will be covering the final two.

Koi Fish

The third totem is clearly a koi fish with long whiskers and a marking on its forehead. In other words, it's a reference to the physical forms of the moon and ocean spirit. I can't help but wonder if Aang's realization of Tui and La's true forms was unconsciously informed by the all the koi head totems omnipresent throughout the NWT.

Culturally, koi fish are yet another example of the Chinese influence in the NWT. In Chinese culture, koi represent fame, family harmony and wealth. There's also a famous Chinese folktale about koi fish and other carp:

Along the Yellow River, there is a legendary waterfall that cascades from a magical mountain top known as Longmen (登龍門), meaning the Dragon's Gate. If a carp can swim upstream against the currents and hop over the waterfall into Longmen, the fish will transform into a dragon.

Thus, koi fish can also represent determination, courage, and perseverance. The connection between koi and dragons also strengthens the fan theory that the dragons Ran and Shaw might be the Fire Nation's equivalent to Tui and La. Perhaps the dragons are the spirit of Sun and Fire respectively?

Wolf

The totem beneath the koi depicts a wolf. The wolf head totem also bares a striking resemblance to the headdress that Sokka wears in "Day of the Black Sun" (Season 3, Episode 11). Wolves are prominent figures in the mythologies of many Indigenous American cultures, particularly those whose societies were oriented around hunting.

Within different Inuit groups, wolves are called amarok (multiple groups), amagok (Inuvialuit), and amaguk (Inupiat). These names refer both to normal wolves and to the gigantic, supernatural wolf of Inuit religion. There are two Amarok-focused tales that I'd like to detail in this post:

A persecuted and physically stunted boy seeks to increase his strength. When he calls out to the lord of strength, Amarok appears and wrestles him to the ground with its tail. This causes a number of small bones to fall from the boy's body. The Amarok tells the boy that the bones had prevented his growth; he instructs the boy to return daily in order to develop his strength. After several days of wrestling with the Amarok, the boy is strong enough to overcome three large bears, thus gaining him the esteem of his village.

The land was once full of caribou; the people lived well and were happy. But the hunters only killed those caribou that were big and strong. Soon all that was left were the weak and the sick. The people began to starve. And so they called upon Amorak, the spirit of the wolf, to winnow out the weak and the sick, so that the herd would once again be strong. The people realized that the caribou and the wolf were one, for although the caribou feeds the wolf, it is the wolf that keeps the caribou strong.

From these two stories, we get quite a nuanced conception of what the wolf represents in Inuit culture. While wolves represent strength in many cultures, these tales really emphasize the wolf as a creature that strengthens those around it. Through this worldview, we understand strength not as an innate or individualistic quality, but one that's nurtured through mentorship and interdependence.

This makes Sokka's adoption of wolf imagery during "Day of Black Sun" all the more appropriate. Sokka is certainly not the most powerful character in the show, but his role as the leader strengthens the group as a whole.

Like what I’m doing? Tips always appreciated, never expected. ^_^

https://ko-fi.com/atlaculture

#avatar #atla #avatar the last airbender #water tribe #cultural architecture

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nanamimizz-archived · 8 months ago

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𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝚬 𝚩𝐈𝐑𝐃, 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐃𝚬𝐃 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝚬

author's note: thank you so much @rabbbitseason for commissioning this piece as well as your patience and understanding <3 ! reader's features (fem reader, pale skin) are described as requested by commissioner. 4.1k words.

tags: 18+ minors dni // kidnapping // isolation (mentioned)// manhandling // size difference // overstimulation //penetration // mating press // let me know if i had missed something.

synopsis: 4 months ago the stellaron hunters had come knocking at your door - they had work for you, they had said. you don't think fucking your charge was the work they had in mind.

When you had first been approached by the Stellaron Hunters, it had been with an elegant woman dressed in a fine black coat. She was in your living quarters lounging away in your chair drinking from a wine glass that most definitely wasn’t yours. On your coffee table was a bottle of red wine, the label in a language you didn’t recognize. You heard a quiet laugh one that you imagined the cat would make when it has cornered the rat. Your heart raced in your chest, panic nigh high as you gazed at the woman’s empty pink eyes with her voice deep and hypnotic on your head.

“Listen to me. Close the door,” You were obeying with your heart racing in your chest as your hand went to input the code that locks your quarters from the inside rather than the outside. She finishes the last of her wine the tint a red so deep it was almost black, tinged her lipstick darker that it once was. She had praised you for your compliance as if it was voluntary and then - the world went back.

“Listen to me - go to sleep.”

The world turns dark.

You awake with the same woman next you, sitting on a plain chair like the kind you see in hospital shows the IPC likes to push. Your head pounds but you soon realize that you are fulled dressed and you let out a exhausted sound.

“Good thing you are awake - I thought I might have used too much force on you.” The woman speaks voice slow and measured like she’s talking about something so mundane like the weather rather than the concerning topic of your kidnapping. Her coat rests on the back of her chair rather than her shoulders like when you first saw her as if she was trying to add an air of causality to the conversation.

“You’ll have to grow out of that for the work we brought you here for little bird.”

“What have you brought me here for?” You ask finally finding your voice that you thought was lost to you. The woman merely smiled and explained it all to you in a soft and measured words like priceless silk on your ears. You had been picked with handler work for a specific team member. One who often loses himself to his madness to the point he poses a threat to others on the team. Which is where you come in as a one that has caught the gaze of the Harmony you would prove useful in subduing this particular member. That was 4 months ago - that you know off. You aren’t taken out to the field, and all you do is wait for your charge to return from his missions. Your world is limited to the well furnished 2 bedroom suite you share with him.

Blade - wanted for a bounty of 8.13 billion stands before you soon enough. He is tall and broad, standing a full head above you looming with great muscled mass. Saffron colored eyes burn through you like you are a mere dying ember rather than the one that is made to control him. The first few times you are with him where quiet affairs, merely extending your power to him when something too dangerous would glint across his eyes when returning from a mission with the others. A mere touch of his shoulder and an incantation had his eyes dimming and muscles uncoiling.

They were quick and quiet affairs - you find yourself quickly growing attached to the routine of comforting your charge after missions. You think you can you live like this for some time, longer thought you would before this became your new reality.

Until today.

He comes back from the mission bloodied and wild, freshly healed jagged line glowing pink among the pale palor of his skin visible by the long cut going down his dark shirt. You are docile and naive when you first see him spoiled rotten by routine that you merely approach him frowning at how long it will take you to fix the tear going down his shirt to notice his hand coming out to grip you by the back the neck.

The same way one would do so with an unruly kitten.

Your hear races and you look up at him with eyes dilated with fear and to him in his haze only makes him growl at you. He picks you up and your feet dangle off of the floor like that - with merely the strength of his fingers on the back of your neck and he has you on the bed bouncing on the mattress with you looking up at him with wide eyes. Your heart beats wildly in your chest and you swallow when you feel something hot run through your veins at the show of brute strength. You tremble like an animal caught in a steel trap when you feel the heat of his calloused hand gripping your ankle entirely, fingers meeting as drags down to the edge of the bed where like always he looms over you.

A shadow that scares you, that frightens you that - bewitches you. He looks into your dark, blown out eyes that aren’t as scared as they should be and the way his lips twitch at the glimmer of timid lust peaking through makes him rumble in his chest. You squirm in his grip, hiking up your leg in an attempt to pull away but even you find that lacking, as you look up at his handsome face and burning eyes. You find that you don’t mind this, not when it ties into all your fantasies you have - all from being left alone for so long with nothing but him.

“Say you want me too.” It’s the first time he speaks, voice deep and rough with desire so deep you almost couldn’t bear it. You gulp, pulling your leg up futility as your mind races. It would be dishonest to say no you admit yourself. You have always found Blade attractive, the sight of him shirtless an often occurrence would be the material of your fantasies at night when you think he’s asleep in the other room separate by thin walls. When you try to pull your leg up again you fail because he instead tugs it up to him, settling your heel on his shoulder and placing a surprisingly tender kiss on your calf. Something in you wobbles, and you can’t help but notice how the small gesture makes your legs relax and open up to him.

“Okay.” It’s whimpered out, said with enough force that is makes the dark strands of hair stuck to your face blow in the soft breeze from your lips. A word so simple and so small makes the villain above you tremble from his wanting and you can’t even catch your breath in time when he lunges forward to press a kiss so deep to your lips you worry Blade wants to consume you. Like a snake with a mouse, a wolf to a rabbit, him to you. The kiss is so violent you gasp when you feel the nipping of his teeth at your bottom lip and Blade is no different here than he is in combat. Your mouth is open and he presses his tongue into the soft cavern of your mouth, letting it flow past your own in a seductive waltz that’s enough to make you moan for him. The sound makes him purr, you feel the rumbling in his exposed now healing chest and you feel so helpless when one of his hands goes to grip your thigh, fully wrapping around its softness to pull it up and away so he can press the whole of himself against you.

It’s enough to make you blush, warm and vivid as you squirm from the feeling the weight of him pressed against the most intimate crux of your thighs - you can feel the swell of his bulge stiff and hard against your aching cunt. Blade pulls away from your lips not without nipping at them one last time to make you whimper and you can see the same thrill-sick smile he wears on his handsome face when in a fight leering down at you.

“Tastes sweet, give me more.” You feel lost in a haze, his words lulling you just like Spirit Whisper does - so you nod your head emptily your eyes dilated and wanting for him. Your mouth is relaxed, letting out sot whines when you feel his calloused hands go to grip your body, they sink and squeeze the soft flesh of your breasts his thumbs finding the peaking tips of your nipples to pull and play with at his leisure. You remind him of any sort of small, soft furred pet so easily pleased by gentle little touches that it makes Blade chuckle into your lips.

“So easily pleased, I will enjoy having my way with you.” He rumbles voice so deep it lulls you deeper into the searing heat in your belly as your chest gets played with more and more until you squirm beneath him. Desperate and keen to have more you let your hand sneak down to the bottom of your top and begin to try to take it off, desperate to feel his skin on your own rather than be groped through your clothes.

“More - please more, I want to feel you please.” You plead, lifting your top until your soft stomach is revealed and your hand is taken over his own that grip the sides of your thin shirt and rip the material away from you in a show of pure strength.

“More?” he laughs like your pleas deeply amuse him, like the thrill of debasing you is enough to make him break from the fog of his mind to smile at you with glinting fangs in the dark of your room. “Very well then, I will give you all that you ask for and more.”

Your flesh is no different then you spirit - both belonging to him now that you feel the bare skin of his hands gripping at whatever is available to him. His hands pass over the softness of your stomach the touch almost ticklish until you feel how his hands grope at your chest. His hands are warm and rough - their touch against your breasts makes you sing the soft cry of your pleasure. Blade watches you faithfully, keeping his eyes on your flushed face even as his own face descends to where his hands are pinching and pulling at your supple flesh.

The peaks of your nipples are hard against his fingers and the ache in his jaw is too much to bear. You have no warning to his touch - you are so deep in it now, pleasure is like the waves of the coast’s on your home planet you think dazed. His mouth comes to seal around one of your nipples and like a torrent the heat buzzes down to your stomach from how good it feels. You are whining, squirming from beneath him your hips grinding against his form having your chest played with. You can hear him grunt faintly from below you, and you flinch when you feel one of his hands go to your bottoms and tug at them until you hear another haunting rip. The cold air of the ac is felt on your bare skin, making you shiver from the difference of temperature. His hot mouth that moves from one nipple to the other, the cold air on the heated, sticky flesh of your cunt that flutters at the attention your nipple gets as the other one fizzles from the stimulation. Your hands go to Blade’s hair, lost in the dark blue tresses and you whine weakly at the peaceful look of serenity on his face.

“You enjoying yourself?”You ask, mind addled by the lust and your hips settling in a rhythm against his own crotch as your rub your own need against the bulge in his pants. Saffron eyes open and the burning red is so consumed by the inky black of his pupil that it alone answers your question. He answers you with not with words but with actions, the feeling of his fingers at your the wet seam of your cunt. He merely rests them there, letting the pads of his fingers touch the leaking slick like honey that drips out of you so sweetly.

“I think we both are.” Blade says pulling way from you, strings of spit following him as this fingers cautiously press into you. It makes you gasp, arching into the touch as his fingers find the glistening pearl of your clit that wants for pressure, to be touched and to be used. Whining into the air between the two of you it makes you tremble the dexterity that Blade shows as he beings to twirl his sticky fingers around your pearl.

“I am glad Kafka sought you out,” Blade mumbles to you, pressing a final kiss to the peaked nub of your nipple before bringing his attention to your lower half , “You deserve to be rewarded for your work.” Any though you might have had is gone as you feel his finger press into the entrance of your cunt - his fingers are long, longer than your own and it make you break out in shivers at just how full only one feels. Your hands that have hanged at your sides uselessly curled into weak half fists, now come to clutch at his broad shoulders with dull nails leaving the skin red as you feel his finger pump in and out of you.

“Are you really that happy I am here?” The question comes out wobbly and more pathetic than you would have liked but your heart soars when you hear his deep hum of agreement. It makes your cunt flutter, the needy thing it is and you feel him shift to press another finger against you. You are a whimpering little mess, squirming and gasping at how good it feels when he curls the two fingers that have made their way inside of you. He does it rhythmically, on sound counts of one, two, one, two that make you leak down to his broad palm.

“Yes, I am,” the words come out breathless and your thigh aches where it is held in place so Blade can watch how your flushed cunt takes his fingers like it never wants to part with them. Your wanting makes you a mess and the bits of praise he gives you clearly make you want for more as you twitch up against at his admittance.

“Always so very helpful, even now - you are a true gift brought to me. A small pleasure to spoil myself with.” Blade speaks to you and it’s almost too much. He never says much but each word spoken in that deep voice you would dream about at night is making your chest ache after spending so much time alone. The pleasure of having his fingers feel around that special bundle of nerves in your cunt. Your fingers dig deep into the muscle of his shoulders and your back arches like a bow about to be released as you cum with a half breathed gasp for the first time this night.

His fingers keep moving, prolonging the pleasure until it comes out in rivets - sticky and messy now at your thighs that cools off immediately when exposed to the air of the room. You are watched ever presently, and burning black eyes watch you like prey at how your tilt your head back to gasp into the pillows bearing the gentle slope of your neck to him. His lips brush against the soft skin and you are so lost in the sea that you don’t feel him there until you bear the stinging of his teeth digging into the skin there.

You gasp, tensing up and stiffen until he pulls away - with a dark mark blooming the fairness of your skin with the perfect indents of his teeth imprinted on your skin.

“There.” Blade states simply as if it was the most common thing in the world to do. You don’t even have time to react before you feel two strong hands lock around your thighs and twist you around, laying you on your back with your knees pressed to your chest. You feel exposed and meek like this, trembling beneath the weight of him as Blade fluidly like a panther upon the weak rolls his shoulders a mere show of how easily he can overpower you.

You let out a squeak - a sound so thin you are surprised he even heard as you how he smiles vaguely at you from above you. But you find that you can’t even meet his gaze when as you feel something hard pressed against you. The length and girth from the touch alone paints it in your mind as impressive but you squirm when feel it’s leaking head press against you. It is futile however, a rabbit can not rum from the trap once it’s leg is caught and there is no where left for you to turn too as Blade presses the length of himself into you slowly, deliciously. You feel like a fish out of water, failing to catch your breath at just how big it feels ; your fingers or your fantasies could have never prepared you for this, the real long, hard and hot thing between your legs.

Your nails are racking down the muscle of his arms, leaving trails of fire in their wake that quickly heals over leaving his skin like porcelain while your own figure it stained with bruises in the shape of his finger tips. Blade fairs no better than you, mouth agape and brow beaded with sweat at your tightness despite it being lax and wet from his fingers your poor pussy struggles to accommodate him. Spreading your legs to have both placed on his shoulders he’s pressed against you completely. Skin against skin and he is quick to press his face against yours - to press kisses into your gasping mouth as he continues to drive his length into you.

“Good - you are doing very good, just take what is left.” He murmurs in between tugs on your bottom lip and you nod your head emptily whining vaguely at the prospect of there being more. You don’t even know when it is you started to weep - messy and noisy little bleats of it being too much for you when you can feel his hips flat against yours. He rest inside you, full and pulsing in your walls and you can feel Blade’s heartbeat dancing at the same pace as your own.

You open your mouth to speak but find nothing comes out as you moan with how good the drag of his cock feels against your walls, stimulating every part of your being to your innermost self to your core. Your eyes water with fresh tears and you stutter out gasps of his namesake, making him shiver down to the marrow of his spine as he drives further into you. His form crowds yours on the bed, bending you in half completely as Blade has his way with you. The sound between the two of you grow louder and louder - the smacking of his hips against yours, the endless moans between the two of you and the wet shucking noise your messy cunt makes from how good he fucks you fill the room in a degenerate orchestra.

You make the mistake of peering down at where you connect and let out a withering gasp that Blade matches with a thin laugh. You see it - strings of your slick cling to the flushed sides of his cock in a creamy mix and you let out a cry as Blade feels you clench on him.

“Do you like that? Do you enjoy watching yourself get fucked? He asks you, voice heated and breathless as he gazes at you from above. He takes in your flushed face and half lidded eyes and the way your mouth hangs letting out soft and needful little sounds. Your confession comes out tumbling from your lips - wet and pathetic little babbles of mindless “yes.” Your hands that clung to his shoulders go to wrap around his neck and lace through his hair to pull and tug. Blade moans, back arching and angling his hips to hit you deeper, another scant few inches sinking into you.

“Fuck me - please, please.” You whimper into his lips that brush against yours, flushed and kissed raw. He nods, obediently and the pace picks up and you blush bright red when you hear the beat of the headboard beating against the wall. Gasping, your clit aches for more attention and you find your own hand coming down to folds of your cunt to rub wet little circles to the needy nub. You cum just from that, having the pearl of you clit petted a little and with every inch of Blade buried so deep inside of you feel him in your stomach. You don’t even have the strength to tell him, just letting out a wailing cry as you cunt turns soft around him.

Blade grunts from above you, brows burrowed and set as he sneaks his own hand down between the two of you and presses the rougher skin of his fingers against your twitching pearl. He rubs at the sensitive thing, even if it makes your thighs tremble and your hips buck from it being too much - he does not stop. You already came and in a desperate attempt you try to pull your head out of the water without knowing that Blade is the one who will tell you when to breath.

“One more, give me the one.” He murmurs into your lips, taking your bottom one in between his teeth letting it grow red from the bite before pressing his tongue into your mouth. Your eyes are rimmed red and crossed as you feel another orgasm coming, the rubber band begging to be snapped again on his cock but it grows too hard too fas and you don’t even recognize the pitched and whiny noises you make. Everything is a blur of sensation, everything too much yet you yearn for more and more. You let your mouth drop and slide your tongue against his mindlessly as it becomes harder and harder for your to think or to try to speak. You only murmur helplessly to him,

“I can’t - can’t come again, it’s too much.” Blade shakes his head at you, giving you harder thrusts that makes you feel the head of his cock against your limits, the wall of your cervix and you tremble beneath him.

“You can, give it to me. I won’t ask again.” His voice is clear but you catch how it wavers at the end and it feels like seeing the arms of the titan Atlas wavier under the weight of the sky. His strokes go from hard and deep to shallow and fast as your cunt flutters around his weakly. Leaning up with your last piece of strength to lift your neck you press your forehead to his, eyes close in bliss as you whine your warnings to him about the end of your rope. With a final touch to your clit, you cum with a pained squeal of his name. An orgasm so strong it makes your pelvis ache and burn as your own hips circle and jut out to try and match his.

Blade does not falter, stamina endless as he fucks you through the waves of your orgasm that make you wither, legs limp on his shoulders as he pulls away from you - hissing at how his cock catches against the seam of your cunt. Blade rests his length on your stomach, flushed a dark pink and leaking onto your soft skin as he pumps himself to completion over your stomach. His cum paints your pale skin into a translucent pearl and he shudders with the notion of more - more of you, more of this, forever.

But for now, you will rest prettily beneath him, as he gently takes your legs off his shoulders - if you were more lucid you would think it’s funny. You never would have thought a man like him would be capable of being gentle. But you see it, in the way his hands rub against your thighs and you are being tucked in. Your eyes are almost shut completely before you feel a gentle touch to your cheek. Groggily you open your eyes, and Blade gazes upon you with an unreadable expression despite the red on his face and his messy hair.

His touch is careful and delicate as his brushes hair away from your dewy cheeks. Weakly, you lean into his touch eyes closed and relax as your hoarse voice asks,

“Is this…how it will be?”

“Would that please you?” He asks back, hand stilled on your cheek as your eyes struggle to open. His face unreadable but open. You fight back a small smile as you realize that he wants to know, to know if he can make you happy.

“Yes.” You utter as you relax into his touch, fulling closing your eyes and settling into the bed more comfortably. You don’t see it but you hear his amused huffed all the same and the way he rubs his thumb against your still blushing cheek.

“Then it will be this way.”

#lamb.writes #blade x reader #hsr x reader #hsr blade smut #hsr blade x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr x you

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 months ago

Note

could you please do a Beauty and the Beast au with Jake and Cassie, I love your content!

The day he came of age he went forth, as all younger sons must, to seek his fortune. For his parents had no other heir, his only brother having disappeared many years before.

They sent him with what they could, his parents. A few days' meat, wrapped in preserving cloth. A sturdy bow and a hunting knife. The warmest fur-lined cloak they owned. "Return to us," they told him, "make your fortune and return."

The younger son walked, all that day and into the night. He knew this forest well, having lived at its edge all his life. But as he continued on, always with the sun at his back in the morning and ahead in the evening, the trees grew dense around him. Their trunks were so thick around that three men holding hands could not have encircled one, and their topmost branches blotted out the sun. Many days he walked. Many days he ate and shot. Many days he waited for his eyes to grow used to deeper darkness and deeper still, and then for many days he walked on.

One morning, as the days grew warm and the first spring roses unfurled, he awoke to a howl of pain echoing from somewhere far in the distance.

Hand on his knife, cloak drawn back, the younger son moved toward the sound. It was strange, the sort of howl he had never heard before despite living near these woods his entire life. As he drew closer he at last understood why: it lacked all harmony, and a single voice on the wind. As if a jackal were out there, and yet speaking with the voice of a much larger dog.

When at last he found the wolf, he found her caught in a snare.

The ropes were drawn tight around the beast's legs and snout, tying her to the ground and to the surrounding trees. It was like no snare the younger son had ever seen, far too many knots and anchors for any single animal. The wolf howled hoarse and heaving in her despair.

Just for a moment as he looked upon her, the younger son thought of his hunting knife, and of his empty satchel. Then he looked not to the wolf but to the forest around, and he felt unease dance across his skin. "Where is your pack?" he asked aloud.

The wolf lifted her head to look at him. "Where is yours?" she answered, in his tongue.

Again they stared, looking each other over with care.

"We have a saying, among men," the younger son said. "About wolves who are alone. A lone wolf is a dead wolf, we believe."

"We have a saying about men who are alone," the wolf said. "That a man alone is easy prey."

"I come to seek my treasure," the younger son said. "For my family has no other way to provide for me. What brought you so far from your kin?"

"I know of a treasure," the wolf said. "For the taking, for any man bold enough to take it. Among the enchanters far to the north. The journey is far, but the reward is great if you can brave the cold. It is said the maker of puppets will grant a boon to any man brave and diligent and clever enough to reach his inner hall."

The younger son took off his cloak, and showed her that he wore the skin of a great striped cat from the lands on the edge of the world, one who stalked through snows deep enough to bury a man alive and yet never lost strength. It had been passed through his family for many generations, its origin lost to time, but he knew that it would shelter him through the long nights to come.

"Very well," the wolf said. "Let us go, then."

He cut her loose, and together they walked the forest. She was a skilled hunter despite being alone, returning with rabbits and squirrels. In return he dug them roots and used nimble fingers to remove blackberries from the vine once he had paid the price in blood for such sweetness. They slept each night curled beneath his cloak of sunset and shadow-colored fur, and they woke each morning to put the dawn at their right and journey on.

"What is your name?" she asked him, one night as they sat before the fire feasting upon a deer they'd worked as one to kill.

The younger son looked at the wolf, their eyes lit gold from the fire. "How do I know that you are not fairy folk?" he asked. "For I know of no other wolves who speak men's words."

The wolf considered. "Cassie," she said. "My parents call me Cassandra, but my true name is Cassie."

If she was fair folk, then she would not be able to lie. And it would be a dangerous thing indeed, to give a human her true name. "My parents call me Jacob," the younger son said, bowing low despite his blood-sticky hands. "But my true name is Jake. What story underlies your name? An odd name indeed, for a wolf."

"It's an old story, where I'm from," Cassie said. "Of one who sees far, but cannot speak of the truths she sees. She knows of what's to come, but she is the only one who does, and thus even if she did speak such truths she would be dismissed as a liar. A strange name, not one oft-chosen."

"What truths do you know, Madam Wolf?" the younger son asked.

"That the roses are beautiful tonight," the wolf said.

Strange words, for there were no roses visible around them. But the younger son remembered the power of her nose, and contrary to her name chose to believe her. The beauty she spoke of must be one beyond human senses.

"Jacob," she said. "Jake. What story explains your name?"

"A man saved my ancestor's life. He was called Jacob, and thus so am I." He did not ask the wolf the question upon his tongue that night, nor all the next day.

They spoke in those following days of the younger son's hopes for his parents, once he had enough money of his own to make them proud. They spoke of the wolf's skill with hunting, and the things she heard through the trees that no mere human would. They did not speak of the past.

A figure stepped into the road before them, shrouded and cloaked. The younger son nonetheless recognized his stride, and moved toward him straight away with open arms and open smile. "My brother!" he said. "It has been too long. We thought you lost."

The figure did not speak, only drew his bow.

The first arrow whispered past the wolf's left ear, even as the younger son cried out in protest. The second struck solidly into her shoulder.

"Stop!" the younger son cried once more. "Don't hurt her!"

In response, the figure turned and fired on him as well.

The younger son ran forward even as the arrow pierced the flesh of his arm, and tore through. "Stop!" he called again, and "Please!" to no avail. Desperately he drew his knife, and — when the figure notched another arrow and drew back to fire at the wolf — the younger son drove his blade through flesh and lung.

A terrible silence filled the glade, when at last only two bodies breathed there.

"Jake?" the wolf dared to ask, once her breathing had slowed.

The man stared down at the familiar face revealed by the cloak's fall, pointed toward a sky that now gave no light to those eyes. "This was not my brother," he said. "It could not have been. Some fairy trick, some illusion."

The wolf looked at the figure, scented its clothes. She considered for a span: he had saved her life. "Yes," she told her companion, her gaze on the sky. "It must have been."

When the sun began to lower between the trees, they were forced to walk on. They built a small fire far enough from the glade that they could not longer see the crumpled form, and the wolf explained to the man how to tend their hurts. Under her guidance he drew out the arrow from her flesh, then packed both their wounds with a paste of leaves that would draw out infection before binding them with tight linens to make the skin heal smooth.

"You know a great deal of medicine, for a wolf," the man said as he boiled willowbark to a tea, at her instruction.

She heard the question that had lingered in his heart, for all that his tongue was too kind to give it voice. He saved her life, at great personal cost. "I was not born a wolf," she confessed. "I was as human as you, until three days before the day that you found me. That was no mere trap which held me, but the remains of a spell to bind me in this form. I committed a great transgression, and now I am exiled in this shape until..." She met the man's eyes, which were steadfast and kind. "Until the end of my life," she lied.

"What could you have possibly done to deserve such a fate?" the man asked. "For you are selfless and wise, Madam Wolf."

"Perhaps too selfless," the wolf said bitterly. "I gave shelter in my home, to one I should have turned away. I was fooled by appearances, by the surface seeming of innocence and candor, and thus I am cursed to look like that which I am not."

"Giving shelter is no great sin," the man said. "Quite the opposite, where I am from."

"She was a slaver."

The man's cheek grew pale, but he did not speak.

"The child with her was not her daughter, but one she had kidnapped to replace with a changeling. Concern for the child fettered my eyes, so that I let them pass freely through our lands." The wolf stared into the fire, ears flat to her head. "The slaver claimed that she had come to regret what she had done, and that she was on her way to return the child to its family. I chose to believe her, for all that she had no proof. And for that, I am to live out my days as you see me. A hideous beast, human no more."

The man knelt on the ground before her, so that they might look eye to eye. "There is beauty in your poultices, I find," he said. "There was beauty in the steadfastness you showed in joining me on my quest. There is, I believe, even a beauty to be found in choosing the care of a child over revenge on one's enemies."

The wolf scented the wind, as she considered his words. "The days grow shorter once more," she said. "Soon only the marigolds will bloom."

They slept that night underneath his warm sunset cloak, and did not look back as they walked on the following day. That day was indeed shorter than the one before, the spheres turning on and the blackberries turning forth smaller fruit.

Many days on, the man shot a rabbit as the sun rose, for meat was more precious with each passing day. But as he drew near to his quarry, a hawk dropped from the sky and sank talons through the neck of the wounded creature, killing it in a trice. The hawk tossed the arrow aside, tearing into the open flesh underneath.

Hawk was no chicken, but game was scarce. The man nocked a second arrow, and took aim.

"Wait!" a voice rang out. And despite all that had happened these past weeks, the man's heart raced in surprise as he understood it was the bird who spoke to him. "I should not have stolen your prize," the hawk said. "But we hunger too, for meat above all."

Slowly the man lowered his bow. The wolf ran to his side, her eyes upon the hawk as well. "Sir Hawk," the man said, "are you also a human under a curse? If it is so, then do you know how such a curse might be broken?"

"He is no human." The figure who stepped out from the trees then looked human enough, but the light behind his eyes had a sharpness that drew up the hair on the wolf's hackles. "We are the Wild Hunt. You are a curiosity, little man." A smirk danced at the corner of his mouth as he spoke.

"I answer to Jake, and she to Cassie," the man said, before the wolf could stop him. For he had not heard tell of the Hunt. "What are your names?"

A third creature stepped forth then, this one with no resemblance at all to human or hawk or any other beast the man had ever heard of. An elf, perhaps, if an elf could also be a blueberry and a scythe and a deer with the eyes of a snail. "It would please me," the elfen creature said, "to answer to Ax."

"Tobias," the being with the light behind his eyes said, tilting his head at the bird, "means 'one who speaks with angels' in your human legends, does it not? And what are angels but wings and eyes? As for me..." He smiled more, behind the dark veil of his hair. "Marco, I shall call myself. As they say, you are what you eat."

The man did not drop his bow, and the wood drew tight under his hands. He did not ask why the wolf's teeth showed between her lips, not where the Wild Hunt could hear, but he did not fail to notice.

"Dine with us," said the one called Ax. "You provided the meat, thus it is only fair."

"We eat only that which we provided," Cassie said. "Thus, it is only fair."

More creatures drew around, as the man made fire and drew water to stew the rabbit over the coals. Some were from the human legends: tunnel-makers, tree-herders, three-fingered apes. Some looked like the one called Ax, some like nothing more than tiny soft fish. Some, most frighteningly of all, looked as human as the smiling being that called itself Marco. One dropped herbs into the stewpot, another a rasher of fat to season the meat. Roots went into the pot, and fragrant grasses. Soon the smell grew so delicious that it became impossible to think of anything else.

"You are too kind," the wolf said, when Marco handed a bowl her way. Her mouth watered, but she swallowed hard. "We have just eaten a large meal, and could not take another bite. Not one single crumb. Neither of us could have so much as a drop of broth, for we are fit to burst."

Jake stared at her in surprise, for they'd had only bitter lichens to chew for nearly three days. But he kept his mouth shut, and he did not reach for the proffered bowl.

"You refuse our gift?" the one called Marco said. His smile remained, but so did the light in his eyes. "Our food will not suffice to sate you?"

"You have showed us great kindness already," Cassie said. "We would not want to grow greedy."

"There was a frost last night, Madam Wolf." Marco's smile grew. "Did you know that? The roses are all dead."

These words struck her like a blow, Jake could see, for all that he knew not why. Cassie drew into herself, ears flat and tail stiff, but her next words came out clear. "I care little for roses," she said, staring the fae creature in the eye. "Though their scent is sweet, their flesh does not nourish me. And I prefer not to bleed for no reason. Far better to plant cabbages, far better to harvest peas. Give me ordinary and serviceable flowers, not beautiful and cruel."

"You asked my friend about curses," the one called Marco said, looking now to Jake. "If you will not take our food, let me give you a different gift: the way to break the curse that transforms a human to a beast."

Jake knew to be wary, but his arms betrayed him in leaning him closer to hear every word and his heart betrayed him by growing faster in his breast.

"A human must swear fealty to the cursed one forever," Marco said. "This human must abandon the family of their birth and dwell forever in the home of the afflicted, never once returning to the hearth of their youth. The human must swear an oath to obey the afflicted in all things, to honor their every whim, and to love them from the depths of their heart. That, Sir Human, is the way to break the curse."

"But this is wonderful news!" the man cried, turning to his companion. "I will gladly swear such an oath." The joy died from his voice as her tail lowered still further, its plume trailing the ground.

"One thing more," Marco continued. "The oath must be sworn before the last petal falls on the last rose of summer. Otherwise, the curse takes hold forever. But then, your companion would have known all this already."

Jake had seen as much already, from Cassie's demeanor and the soft whine of her breath. "Cassie," he whispered, caring not who heard, "Why did you not tell me? I would have sworn this oath, abandoned my family, obeyed you and loved you forever."

"Such a thing would be monstrous," Cassie told him. "And you are kind. Your family cares for you, and they depend upon you. I do not want a bondsman or catamite, and I will not become a slaver to save my own skin. Wolves are swift and strong, hearing much and scenting more. I chose, my beloved friend, and I do not regret my choice."

The man stood, then. He bowed deeply to each person around the fire. Side-by-side he and the wolf walked away from the beautiful and bountiful fete. They'd walked only the span of the clearing when a voice spoke his name. His full name, the name he had not given.

His kinswoman stood there, when he turned to find the voice. The kinswoman he had long since given up as dead, for she had gone into battle and never returned.

"There is another way to save your beloved," she told the man. "Eat of their food. Drink of their wine. Thus you will be young forever, and both of you as beautiful as the dawn."

She spoke truly. There was no chance of a lie, for she was one of the fae now. And she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman either the wolf or the man had ever seen. Forever she would be young. Forever she would hunt, and fight, and dance. Never would she see home again. Never would she leave the circle of the Hunt.

"Be well," the man told his kinswoman. "I will speak of you, when I return home. You have not been forgotten, nor will you be."

Then he embraced her, before he and the wolf walked on.

The following night the frost came again. What few flowers may have remained curled up their leaves, and bare bulbs littered the bushes. The man and the wolf spoke little, and only of trivial concerns.

At last they came to the gates of the enchanters' castle. The guard who stood outside had the seeming of a child with wide eyes and missing teeth, though the man knew enough by now not to trust such things. "Why do you seek to enter?" the guard asked.

"I seek treasure," the man said. "I will not be turned away."

"You will die if you enter," the guard said. "Most men do."

The man straightened his spine. "I will not be turned away."

"And you?" the guard asked, looking to the wolf.

"I am no man," she said. "And I seek to enter for love."

The guard stood aside, then. "There will be three trials. If you turn back, you may. If you go on, you die. If you go on and you do not die, you may ask our leader for a boon."

The first trial lay before them, a dark cavern. Together they walked into the dark. The air grew cold around them, and colder still. The man drew his cloak around himself and his companion, and as one creature with six legs they crept onward.

No speck of light was visible no matter where they looked, no tiny glimmer to relieve the blackness. It mattered not. They followed her nose, and onward they went. The cave continued until they were sore of foot and trembling in every limb, but they dared not stop to rest in this cold. The cave continued until his eyes conjured phantom sights and her ears drew forth imagined sounds, but they drew closer still to each other's warmth and walked ever forward. The cave continued until thirst swelled his tongue and cracked her nose, but they staggered onward.

At last it ended in a lush garden, trees dripping with fruits. A mark of their trust, that the man looked to the wolf and waited for her nod before he tore loose a soft sunrise-pink orb and bit into its flesh. Together they supped on the fruits, leaving a trail of stones behind them as they went.

The second trial sprawled before them at the far side of the courtyard. The pile of grains was nearly the height of the man's shoulder and would have taken half a day to walk across, each one as golden as the gold that locked the door they would need to go on. Once again Cassie's nose served them well, as did Jake's clever fingers. Though it took all that day and into the night, they found a gleam of real gold amidst the grains.

One part of a key revealed itself. One part, of perhaps a dozen, from the look of the lock.

They started at each other in new knowing, amidst the tiny fragment on the ground between them. "Perhaps it is for the best," the man said after a time, "that you have no time limit awaiting you anymore."

Despite her sore feet and weary heart, the wolf laughed with him. Then they set to their task.

The sun rose on their search, and it set once more. Twelve winter-short days they sorted grain, twelve winter-long nights they drew forth fragments of the key. From sunup to sundown they searched, and when the light failed they went on by touch. But the time passed lightly, for all the while they spoke to each other of all they had seen on their journey there and all they hoped to see on their way home.

When at last all the pieces fit into one whole, they constructed the necessary device and placed it into the lock. With a twist, the man unlatched the door and let them forth into the courtyard beyond.

The third trial fell upon them like a thunderclap. The guardian was human-shaped but fought like no human, arms around the man's throat, legs around his chest, strong as an entire team of oxen. The man wrestled and fought, outmatched but not beaten, even as the guardian drove him to the ground and the wolf sought any tender place for teeth or claws.

The man cried out in pain, exactly once, as the guardian's hand landed upon his hip and the joint was wrenched forth from its socket. His eyes met those of the wolf, through the cage of the guardian's arms, and once again new knowledge passed between them.

Cassie ran on, leaving him. Heart-heavy but sure of foot, she ran on. The far portcullis was aloft, and she passed through the final door to confront the head enchanter who lay beyond.

There was a smile on the puppeteer's face, when she burst forth into his antechamber. He was many, and he was all alone. He had the same eyes as the guard at the door. "Very well," he said. "You have proven you are brave enough to face the unknown, diligent enough to work beyond weariness, and clever enough to win against a stronger foe. Thus you will use a boon well, if I give it to you. What boon would you have?"

"For my companion to be brought to this room and given his wish," the wolf answered, "and for him to be hale and healed when he arrives."

The puppeteer laughed. "Clever indeed, my little friend. It shall be done."

And the man stood among them, pale with surprise but unharmed. "Once again you have saved my life," he told the wolf.

"Once again you have saved mine," she told the man.

Kneeling before the puppeteer, the man spoke his wish aloud.

Thus she was transformed, into a maiden strong of arm and callused of skin. And the younger son took her hand, and thus with his fortune did he at last return home.

#animorphs #beauty and the beast #long post #animorphs au #beauty and the beast au #jake berenson #cassie animorphs #cake #hope op doesn't mind i borrowed from other celtic and judeochristian and classical myths beyond the original fairy tale #and that i couldn't get myself to use the original ending with its Unfortunate Implications through a modern feminist lens #plus it'd be wildly out of character for cassie to lock jake into a bargain to save herself

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blueberrypancakesworld · 5 months ago

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The criminal, hunter and pianist

Nikolai/Sergei/Dmitri x fem!reader warning : only the fluffiest and best kisses of the three and no criminal acts on this pink day Summary : A world full of money, nature and melodies opens up for you. Three men sometimes agree and disagree because of their different sides but this day is serious because it's about love - your love info : The three sweet Kravinoff need a place, this time all three and not just sweet Dima. Have fun and see you tomorrow ;) masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nikolai

The head of the Kravinoff family and influential 'businessman' as seen from the outside. A man who relied on honor and influence, Nikolai ruled over territories and weapons, but even a man like him had a heart for his love.

But there was one day that he would have hardly paid attention to if he hadn't seen the small mark on her calendar. ,,So my darling wants something?” he asked, and saw her mischievous expression as only a smile could give her when she handed him a glass of wine.

During the years they were together, it was mainly about business, money, and a certain honor between them. A respect between two sides that brought him back down to earth and he fulfilled her dreams. ,,You know how much I love surprises,” she said as he led her back to the estate.

His rough hand lay at her side as she opened her eyes and looked into a newly added room of the present. ,,A studio for your art... and a sparkling something for my jewel” he announced as he reached around and she felt the cool metal on her neck.

A necklace with a diamond adorned her neck as he fulfilled another dream for her, as he bought her everything for her freedom and as he gave her a kiss when a small smile slipped onto his lips as he saw her joy and excitement. Nothing was too expensive for his love, especially not on this day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sergei

The hunter may be a myth, but he is not a myth for his love. Sergei was gone for weeks only to return full of wounds and still holding a bouquet of roses. His love for her was always his top priority.

Even if you often lost track of time out in nature, they were always there for two days or sometimes in the city. ,,In six days it's Valentine's Day,” Sergei heard his girlfriend say in amazement when she saw the marked day.

He tried not to show anything and a plan gradually took shape as he hastily replied, ,,I have to go out again, I won't be long" before grabbing his jacket and hastily disappearing from the hut. It didn't take long, but it seemed to take a few days, days in which she waited for him to come back as usual.

Until the door of the glass hut opened and she finally saw her love again, a love that was completely disheveled and tousled, ,,Sergei, thank you, nature, you are back,” she greeted him with relief and hugged him, putting her hand on his cheek and feeling the kiss when he handed her something.

Seeing that he had pressed flowers from, with a dragonfly's wings encased in metal serving as a pendant for the necklace, ,,Back with a gift for my dearest” he admitted and placed the gift around her neck as he was the one whose hand rested on her cheek and could finally give her the kiss of reunion. Even in nature, this was the day of love, especially in nature.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dmitri

The blondest and gentlest of the family, someone whose compassion and gentleness brought them together in a harmonious relationship. But weeks before Valentine's Day, Dmitri reminded everyone, especially his girlfriend, how great the day would be.

After she had invited him a year earlier to design his own fashion collection with a few connections and they had both decided to adopt a chameleon in celebration of the day, he knew that this year everything would be a sign of her love.

He had made extra heart-shaped pancakes and placed fresh roses on the table. ,,A private morning concert just for you,” he announced and struck up on the in-house piano as his voice enchanted her, while the delicious pancakes and roses created the ambience. Still in their dressing gowns, they danced through the apartment, listening to the same song that had brought them together.

Holding his hand, they sat down at the piano and tried to play a piece called “Almost as good as you" she giggled and saw the smile that she also formed on his lips when she gave him a kiss and his cheeks turned a rosy hue. He was her sweet, kind Dmitri.

All day long they did something together, played the piano, went singing, danced through the clubs, visited the zoo and had a romantic dinner in his club, ,,A day that belongs only to us,” he murmured as he once again kissed her and she saw him take out a ring... this love-filled day would only become more precious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@sillylittlewritings0 , @xxxibgdrgons , @starry-night-lover1 , @bruhlpng , @amecchii , @bel0ved-heretic , @tori111777 , @ange-olras , @simonsrealwife , @njunieyja , @myromanempire81

#kraven the hunter #kraven movie #nikolai kravinoff x reader #sergei kravinoff x reader #dmitri kravinoff x reader #nikolai kravinoff #sergei kravinoff #dmitri kravinoff #reader is female #male x female #seven days of love #russell crowe #aaron taylor johnson #fred hechinger

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alligator-with-a-top-hat · 25 days ago

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Track #3-15: Kraidosaurus

youtube

Artist: PirateCrab

Original: Big Boss Confrontation BGM (Kraid, Crocomire, Phantoon) by Minako Hamano

Length: 3:00

Kraid's battle theme from Super Metroid and Zero Mission previously got an orchestral rock remix on the 101% Run as a medley with the tense theme leading up to his chamber; now, the theme gets a remix as a standalone heavy metal piece. The arrangement borrows from both the original as it appeared in Super Metroid and the Zero Mission remix, specifically the suspenseful new melody that was added to the song's second section. The composer, PirateCrab, who previously worked on Shinesparkers' Super Smash Bros remix albums (including a remix of the original game's take on 'Brinstar') , passed away before the album came out, so this was the last remix they contributed to the Shinesparkers community.

This is an excellent cover of Kraid's battle theme. Its placement in the album is more than appropriate, creating a kind of narrative continuity between it and the Kraid's Lair remix before it. Having a remix on the album that homages Zero Mission is greatly appreciated, as remixes of Zero Mission are few and far between on these albums. I love the way this remix sounds like it could have come straight out of one of Mick Gordon's soundtracks for the modern DOOM games. It's a great piece of work that gets the most out of the original song. Thank you PirateCrab, for this and for everything else you gave us.

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Track #3-14: Club Kraid Track #3-16: Another Memory

#metroid #Shinesparkers #hoah #Harmony of a Hunter Returns #PirateCrab #Kraidosaurus #four stars #music #Youtube

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vgmremixtape · 10 months ago

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OCR04659: Metroid Prime: Federation Force: Twilight Zone - ZackParrish and Sebastian Mårtensson feat. Pearl Pixel (Alex Parrish) and Tove Petersson

[Blast Ball Menu; Title Theme (Metroid)]

from OverClocked ReMix; originally on the Shinesparkers album Harmony of a Hunter Returns. more by the artists linked below.

song credits:

ZackParrish - arrangement

Sebastian Mårtensson - arrangement, guitar, script, announcer

Alex Parrish - voice of Samus

Sebastian Mårtensson and Tove Petersson - crowd and chants

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zyoumeval · 4 months ago

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Mutualism of Survival

Caleb X MC!Reader drabble.

tags. teeny bity of angst, fluff, comfort… idk what’s more to tag & i’m sorry for grammar errors!

“what is the best way to describe the relationship between the Colonel & the Hunter?”

“the intertwined paths of the catalyst and the protector”

The day Caleb met you in that abandoned playground, he could sense from the get-go they were meant to be there. You were hunted for your life, as long as you took steps forward on this ground, the never ending battles would take place. The fiery trails you left were Caleb’s navigation to shield you from the upcoming storm that brewing behind.

The Phoenix always rose from the ashes, a line which he engrained into his mind. With every sense he has, he devoted his whole being to keep you safe in every journey you travailed. He didn’t care if it would risk his life in order to protect you, you’re his whole universe — his very reason to stand tall despite the raging storm.

“the home & the anchor”

Amidst the turbulent winds, he found himself clutching the necklace given by you every time. No matter how dangerous the path awaited him, he knew that he would still find his way back to you. For every moment he breathed, you would always be there wishing him safe and sound in his mind and heart.

And he wished you the same. As you were slaying the demons on the ground, there was only one thing in your mind. The idea that you would chant in every steps you take, the sole reason why you were fighting for your life. It’s a simple statement of returning home… to your beloved home.

“the heaven & the earth”

Caleb soared to the stars where dreams were born and you stood the ground where gravity rooted the reality.

Logically, the sky and the ground were never fated to be together. The sky was always far out of ground’s reach, it would always be like that. They were the opposite. But dreams and hopes could defying the doomed fate of the two elements. Heaven yearned for the Earth, to be one in every moment passed — the Earth longed for the Heaven, to embrace its warmth.

They could never be one, but horizon gave them a place to rest. The space between Heaven and Earth, who understood their strong bonds. They could never be one, but they were incomplete without each other.

“sovereigns of their haven”

No matter how far apart the companions were, to the galaxy or to the depths of the ground, they would always choose one. They built protection to their land with trust, loyalty, and compassion. Not just to protect their shared moments over time or their lives, but also to protect the bridge connecting their hearts and souls.

No shadows or storms could break the promises they made to build the sanctuary. The place where they could be stronger together as long as they are side by side.

“survivors of the destroyed utopia”

As the land full of hopes and harmony crumbled down in just a blink of an eye, it felt like a punishment from the Greater one. They defied the fate, going against all odds to be in each other’s embrace. The fall was punishing and merciless, it destroyed them to their core and left them with nothing.

But nothing, was just a fleeting thought as they were surrounded by despair and darkness around them. Yet they found a way to escape the menacing night, they carried themselves to find their way back to each other. It was not easy for them to finally rise from the destruction of their hopes as the horrors were still haunting them to their sleep.

The way they found was to remember the dream. The dream they shared through the day and the night, the dream they once held on tight. They fought the darkness with that remnants of their dreams and, once again, stepped forward to the light and rebuilding what had once been destroyed.

#lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb #caleb drabble #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #lnds caleb #lads x reader #caleb angst #caleb x you #love and deepspace caleb

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azen13 · 1 year ago

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Looking at the items the Starlight Pawnshop has to offer... I'd like to purchase the < Avian Necklace >, please. Because a pretty little songbird deserves only the prettiest chain with which to tie it down.

Paradise Lost, Paradise Found

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Avian Necklace: A silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of a bird mid-flight, imbued with a strange energy strong enough to shackle its wearer in paradise forever.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Description: After the Charmony Festival, Sunday returns to Penacony with the Stellaron Hunters, desperate to be reunited with his lover.

CW: Yandere Themes, Brainwashing, Mind Control, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Intense Distress, Manipulation

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It is a Monday night in Penacony, and all is well in the world.

Sure, your hotel room is cramped. The mattress is lumpy. The view is horrible. But it is real, and that is all that matters to you. After an eternity of dreams so sweet you felt like you were drowning in joy, you would rather be stuck in this dingy hotel room than some luxury VIP suite anyways. It’s comforting in all its imperfections.

That is, until you hear someone knock on your door.

The sound is rhythmic, three short, quick, evenly spaced knocks. It’s all you truly need to know who stands outside your door. Your heart already knows, beating so fast you feel like you could go into cardiac arrest.

But then you hear his voice. Smooth and rich like espresso, laced with a subtle sweetness. “Darling,” Sunday whispers quietly, “please, open the door.” It is both a request and a command, though it isn’t infused with Sunday’s usual pacifying power.

He liked doing this when you realized Ena’s dream was all an illusion; he would give you a chance to submit and acquiesce to his love and care, but when you inevitably refused, he had no qualms about worming his way into your mind. Once inside, he’d gently smash any shred of resistance you had, before pulling you into his arms and crooning his hymns, praising your holiness.

Isn’t this dream so blissful? he would ask you quietly, his hands ghosting over your skin, soft as feathers. I can give you anything you want. In Ena’s dream, it was true. Sunday could give you anything you wanted, even your freedom. But you knew it was an artificial imitation of independence; no matter where you traveled in the pseudo-universe, he was always there, always watching you. That was good enough for him: knowing you were safe, his hands cupped around your world like the way one would hold a bird.

The sound of Sunday’s voice breaks you out of your momentary reverie. “My dove, please, I don’t want our reunion to be bitter, but it seems like you aren’t giving me a choice.” You can feel the resonant harmonies in Sunday’s words grow louder, gripping your mind gently, giving you one more chance to open the door through your own free will.

You look around your room for any way out. On the opposite wall is a single window. You’re on the first floor. All you have to do is break through it and find someone. Frantically, you rush over, scrounging around for something to break the glass. You hear a loud sigh. “I wish you could just understand, my love,” Sunday laments.

The lock clicks.

Instantly, you are pounding and clawing on the glass like a rabid animal. In brief moments of clarity through your haze of desperation, you can feel your shoulder ache from ramming into the glass. Your throat feels raw. Someone is screaming. It’s you.

Sunday’s hands are just as excruciatingly tender as you remember, gliding over your arms and clasping your wrists in a tender but firm embrace. “Shh, it’s okay, my dear,” he whispers quietly. Beneath the insanity that clouds his own eyes, you can glimpse genuine concern in his gilded gaze. “Calm down, shh, yes, relax,” he coos.

All of the sudden, the world goes soft and blurry; every color in your hotel room, the pallid, washed-out grays and pale, muted blues seem to turn into a psychedelic kaleidoscope, luring you deeper and deeper into a state of tranquility.

With slow, delicate motions, Sunday lets go of one of your wrists, a placid smile gracing his face for a mere moment. Making sure that you won’t hurt yourself anymore than you already have, he reaches into one of his coat pockets, pulling out a small necklace imbued with the power of the Order.

“After the Charmony Festival, I was in such a deep state of despair. I thought I had lost everything. My dreams. My power. My home. My sister. My love.” His grasp on your wrist tightens, though you’re so lost in his spell that you can’t even feel the pain. “But now…now I have you again, my dearest,” he whispers hoarsely. Sunday can hardly believe you are real, with how constant misfortune has haunted his life. Time and time again, he has lost everything. Everyone. All his dreams and aspirations have shattered to pieces like stars crashing down to the earth from the heavens. But not you.

“Perhaps my plan was ill-timed,” Sunday muses as he loops the chain of the necklace around your neck. “But for right now, if I can’t give everyone paradise, then at least I can give it to you. And that will be more than enough,” he whispers, taking your appearance in, drinking it in like a man without water for forty days.

The effects of his tuning are fading, but the power of the necklace is taking root in your mind, warping and twisting it until you understand. Truly magnificent. He can see the clarity and consciousness in your eyes, but he can also see behind it, the compulsion to listen.

“Now, we must go,” Sunday says, his hands moving to clutch both of yours, pulling you up from where you’re sitting on the floor. “The rest of the Stellaron Hunters are likely getting anxious and ready to leave.” Still, he can’t help but steal one more moment alone. He presses a quick, light kiss to your lips, looking at your splendor one last time.

His sweet, foolish, caged bird.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagine #yandere oneshot #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x you #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere sunday #yandere sunday x reader #the starlight pawnshop #thank you for requesting!

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