#Led Head Torch

[thetriumphantpanda]

Baby Love | Joel Miller

A Trial & Error One Shot

Summary | It's coming to the end of lambing season, but there's one sheep left to give birth. Noticing she's struggling, you spend the night trying to soothe her, reflecting on your own experiences in her position.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 2.7k

Warnings | Joel & Pretty Girl are still as horny as ever for each other so this is explicit. Mentions of ranching, sheep and animals giving birth. Mentions of human childbirth and pregnancy (I have never had my own children so please go easy on me), also mentions of how dirty it is when a sheep gives birth (blood/guts ect). Explicit smut including oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PiV smut IN THE BARN, creampie, Joel being a menace, PRETTY GIRL ALSO BEING A MENACE. No use of Y/N, no-outbreak AU.

Authors Note | It has been such a joy to write Pretty Girl again, I've missed her something terrible, and I'm so happy that the dynamic between her and Joel is still going strong, even if I have abandoned them for a while. I really hope you enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed writing it, and if there are any aspects of this families lives that you'd like to see, feel free to request it in my ask box!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Lambing season is coming to an end - something you’re eternally grateful for. It’s been a busy few weeks - early mornings and late nights for both Joel and Tommy, leaving you with the twins, Joshua and Ellie to keep entertained. Not that you’d have it any other way - your dysfunctional little family makes you happy every day.

With Joshua at school and the twins with Joel as he took Ellie into town for an appointment, you’re out in the fields with Tommy, making sure the remaining sheep yet to give birth are doing alright. You don’t profess to being an expert, but you’d like to think that your motherly instincts can go beyond humans, knowing when certain sheep are due and when some of them are starting to struggle.

It’s been an easy lambing season this year - most of the girls are seasoned professionals by now, needing only a light touch and a refill of their water more than anything, but there’s one sheep you are worried about. She was from lambing season a few years ago and this will be her first time. When you head into the barn, she’s stood in the corner of one of the pens, moving very little but bleating every once in a while. You know it’ll happen soon, but you’re worried about her.

“Don’t worry your head, sugar,” Tommy soothes, running a hand down the back of your head when it’s time to leave, “It’s nature, she’ll know what to do.”

But, led in bed that night, there’s something that you can’t push from the back of your mind. This worry that takes over you. She’ll be on her own in there, being one of the very last to give birth, and what if she’s scared? What if something goes wrong? You remember how scared you’d been when it came to having Joshua.

So you sigh, push back the sheets, and get dressed. You leave Tommy a note in case he wakes in the night and worries about where you are. You can’t say the horses in the small stable next to the house are enthused about having a torched shined at them in the middle of the night, but thankfully yours doesn’t put up much fuss when you saddle it and make the journey through the dark fields to the barn.

Flicking on the lights, you’re immediately glad you came. The sheep in question is led on her side, breathing laboured and fast. As you walk towards her, she kicks her legs a little and lets out a pained bleat.

“I know baby,” You coo, making sure the gate is shut behind you, “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

You fall to your knees in the soft hay a little way from her, hoping not to spook her, but she doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence. She’s led down near the wall, so you crawl over a little and lean your back against it, stretching your legs out, just to be near her if she needs you.

The sheep lets out another pained bleat but she moves a little, up from her side and onto her feet. She walks closer to you, leaning down to prod your hand with her nose. You let out a little chuckle, letting your hand run down her head. The ranch dog likes when you scratch behind his ears, so you do the same here, which has her settling back down onto her side with her head on your thigh.

“It’s one of the most wonderful things,” You speak to her softly, continuing to pet at her head, “Having babies, but they always forget to mention how much it fucking hurts.”

She lets out another soft bleat, moving her body a little to get comfortable, or as comfortable as is possible when you’re in labour.

Watching her, you can’t help but let your mind wander back to your experience in her position. The first twinges of pain, low in your back that turned into pain everywhere. There wasn't a single position that was comfortable, no way to sit or lie or stand that could take the pain away. Then there was the exhaustion - after hours of waiting and more time pushing and pushing, there were moments when you didn’t think you could do it anymore, that you’d just close your eyes, drift off and wake up with a lovely, healthy baby perched in your arms.

But then, there’s that moment of relief, when the midwife had told you it’s okay honey, one more push and it’ll be done and it was and you could hear him crying and then he was on your chest and you were crying and so was Tommy. No-one ever mentions that bit either - how within seconds you could look down at a baby, your baby, and be completely and utterly in love with him. That’s what made it all worth it. That’s what made you want to do it again. It’s what makes you think you’d do it for the rest of your life if you could, just to have that one moment where that baby is in your arms for the first time.

“It’s worth it though,” You speak down to the sheep, “All this pain will be worth it in the end when we’ve got your beautiful little lamb with us.”

And it is. It’s all a bit dramatic in the end. The lamb gets stuck and you need to offer a helping hand to get it out, but almost immediately the mother sheep is doing exactly what she should, cleaning it off as you do the thing you’ve seen Joel do to help clear it’s airways, sticking a little bit of hay up one of it’s nostrils.

“Look mama,” You coo at the older sheep, a hand on her head as she works to get her little lamb clean, “Look what you did, you clever girl.”

Joel doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the barn that morning, but it certainly wasn’t to see you on your knees in the hay, rubbing a newborn lamb with straw. He can see from this angle that your clothes are filthy, covered in blood and God knows what else. Did you…? Have you….?

“Pretty girl,” He speaks softly, not sure you know he’s there, “What are you doing?”

You turn to him and it’s clear to see you’ve done exactly what he thinks you have and helped this sheep give birth, the gunk all over your clothes is also wiped across your cheek and forehead.

“She-” You trail off, “The sheep, she was struggling and I didn’t want her to be on her own.”

He opens the gate to the pen, walking in to fall beside you on his knees, “Have you been here all night?” He asks, letting his hands give the small lamb the once over.

“Pretty much,” You nod, “We had a lovely talk, didn’t we?” You ask to the mother sheep who is standing a few steps away, carefully observing Joel as he looks at her lamb.

“Did she do okay?”

“I had to get in there at the end,” You explain to him, “I think it was stuck, so I just gave her a little helping hand.”

Once he’s satisfied that the lamb is okay he shuffles back a little, watching as you do the same, letting the mother sheep have some time with her baby, “You did a good job,” He praises, letting his hand run down the back of you head, “Proud of you, pretty girl.”

He helps you to you feet, bends a little to brush as much stray hay from your jeans as he can before he steps back and really takes you in. It’s unconventional, but there’s something about the fact that you’ve got your hands dirty, spent your night here on your own to help one of his sheep, and the fact that you’re covered in dirt and hay, something about it all makes his jeans go a little tighter, something that he’s not quick enough to hide.

“Are you hard, cowboy?” He hears you tease before you’re stepping forward, “Does the sight of me covered in blood and guts turn you on?”

He rolls his eyes and turns his back on you, leaving the pen now he’s satisfied the sheep will be okay, but he can hear your feet following him and then your hand on his arm to get him to stop.

“You’ve not gone all shy on me, have you?” You speak softly, gently moving him so he turns a little.

“Have I ever been shy, pretty girl?”

“Then tell me,” You shrug, smirk plastered across your face, “Does this,” He watches as you drag a hand over the mess that is your clothes, “Turn you on?”

“You wanna know the truth?” He asks, voice low, “I wanna bend you over and get you to shut the hell up.”

Joel can’t help but let his own smirk show when your eyebrows raise, but it’s a fleeting later in your guise, because you’re turning around, showing him your back as you walk towards the stacked bales of hay in the corner. He can hear the clinking of your belt buckle and the telltale sound of you unzipping your jeans.

He’s stuck to the ground as he watches you pull down your jeans and your underwear, baring your backside to him. You pull them all the way down, letting them pool at your ankles as you spread your legs a little wider, bending yourself over the hay in the exact position he had in his head.

“Come on then cowboy,” You say, head turned over your shoulder to speak to him, “Come and shut me the hell up.”

It’s been an automatic response of his for years now, that when you present yourself to him, in any way, he falls to his knees like someone praying to an altar, and today is no different. He’s on his knees behind you, at just the right height to grip his palms to your ass, spread you open wide for him.

He wastes no time, he rarely does anymore, letting his mouth close over the hole of your pussy, somehow already weeping for him. He lets his tongue dip inside, lapping at your slick. It’s been years and he still doesn’t think he’ll get over how good you taste, how it lingers on his tongue for hours whilst he goes about his day.

Whilst he’s lapping up your slick, he lets one of his hands reach around, thumb searching out your clit, little circles rubbed across the little bud. He listens, feeling his cock throb in his jeans when you let out a gasp and a little moan.

“Not so talkative now, are we, pretty girl?” He mumbles, barely pulling off your pussy to speak, before he’s switching his hand and his mouth, leaning just enough so his tongue can flick against your clit, one of his fingers slipping inside you easily.

He chuckles against you when you moan at the curling of his fingers inside you - he loves when he can reduce you to a whimpering mess in seconds. It doesn’t take him long to feel the telltale signs that he’s going to make you come either. He can feel you start to fluttering around the two fingers he now has buried inside you, can feel the way you try and tighten your thighs around his face, so he carries on exactly how he is - suckling at your clit and moving his fingers in and out of your cunt until you’re coming for him, a high-pitched moan of his name from your mouth.

Joel doesn’t wait, he can’t wait. He stands, making quick work of pushing his own jeans and underwear from his body, finally freeing his aching cock from the tight confines of his trousers. He spits obscenely into his palm, running a tight fist up and down his length a few times before he’s dipping his knees, rubbing the head of his cock against the slick hole of your cunt, listening as he pushes himself inside you, giving you every inch of him as slowly as he possibly can, until he’s sheathed inside your tight heat.

He leans forward, covering your body with his own, his forehead pressed against your shoulder as he gets used to the feeling of you clenching and fluttering around him. He can feel you wiggling a little under him, trying to get him to move, so he brings one of his hands to the nape of your neck, squeezing a little, stopping your movements altogether.

“Keep still,” He warns, “You need to keep still a minute, baby.”

There’s never going to be a time where he doesn’t need to do this. The soft, wet heat of your cunt and those first movements inside you that make him feel like he’s eighteen again, ready to come with a few thrusts.

He gives himself another minute before he starts pulling his cock out of you, slowly dragging through your slick until just the tip is left inside you, then he’s slamming himself back into you, setting a bruising pace.

The sound is obscene - there’s the wet squelch he can hear whenever he pushes his cock back into you, the slapping of his skin against yours and the way you both sound when you’re moaning each others names. He’s not going to last long, he knows it. All of this combined with the fact that anyone could wander in and see you has a thrill settling across his spine.

Joel leans forward again, letting his teeth bite down gently on the skin of your neck. He can feel the way your cunt is clenching, if he can just hold on, just a little longer, he can get another one from you, he knows it.

“Tell me,” He chokes out into your ear, “Tell me how to get you there.”

You let out a loud moan, turning your face to his, kissing him, all teeth and tongue and clumsy, “Bite me again.”

So he does, he lets his teeth sink into the delicate skin of your neck, sucking gently, sure to leave a mark, his hand slinking underneath your belly and down to your pussy, soaked bud of nerves exposed just right for him to use his fingers to swirl across it a few times.

“Oh my God-” He can hear you moaning, “Joel, fuck, please, don’t stop, just like that.”

Within seconds, he can feel you coming on his cock - cunt pulled tight, sucking him in. He feels the gush of slick from your pussy too, cock angled just right to have you squirting for him, something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. It’s the tightening of your walls around him that sets his own orgasm off - that flush of pleasure across his body that blooms even more as he empties himself inside you. He can feel everything, the way your pussy clenches every time he gives you more, sucking his spend in as deep as possible.

He pushes himself up off you a little, hands on your hips, frantically sucking in air. He groans a little as he pulls himself from your cunt, standing back to admire how his cum drips from you. He doesn’t linger long, bending down to pull your clothes back up, gentle kiss pressed to the swell of your bottom as he does. He lets you zip yourself up whilst he puts himself right.

“Well, that was a great start to the morning.” You muse, pressing up on your tiptoes, gripping at his flannel shirt.

He’s about to speak when there’s a bleating from the sheep in the pen behind you, you both laugh, “Someone else agrees.”

He dips down, kisses your mouth slowly, gently, “Go and get clean,” He speaks against your lips, turning you around and giving you a tap on your ass as he does, “You’re filthy.”

“Still turns you on though.”

“Go on, get outta here.”

[battymommastuff]

The Greatest Show

Batmom x Batman, Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: While digging through the attic, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd uncover a secret about their adoptive mother. A secret that reveals the true, and dark story of the most loved couple in Gotham City

Part 1 Masterlist

(P/N): Performer Name

!!DISCLAIMER!! - This likely won't be comic accurate (Obviously), but I did draw inspiration from the comics. If you are looking for something accurate, then this fanfic isn't for you.

The rumbling from the red and white tent could be felt from outside. The cheers of the crowd as Haly's circus put on what they felt would be their best show yet. Everything from the elephants standing on their back legs to the clowns hitting each other with bowling pins. You were peeking from the little opening that led backstage. Many of your fellow performers were either stretching in preparation for their performance, or were relaxing after theirs. You were currently waiting alongside your two closest friends, John and Mary Grayson. The acrobatic duo who recently combined their act with yours. The stakes were higher, but it left the crowd in complete awe. You were one of the fire eaters. You were a younger member of the circus, but had quickly become a fan favorite. 

You were beautiful, and highly skilled at your art. Swallowing fire like water, and twirling torches around without burning you or anyone else. The skill you possessed was outstanding, and Haly never let you forget that. He took you in when you needed help the most, and he made you a star. You would forever be in debt to him. 

"Are you ready, (Y/N)?" Mary asked, resting a hand on your shoulder. You jumped then turned towards her. She and John had just finished their stretches and decided to check on you. From the moment you arrived, they took you under their wing. Teaching you the do's and don'ts of the circus as well as giving you a place to sleep so you didn't have to bunk with the others in their crowded space. Though you quickly earned a little tent of your own after your spike in popularity. 

"Yes, I'm alright..." You said, with a small smile, "But what about you? Should you be performing in your condition?" You asked while looking down at Mary's stomach. She was currently one month pregnant, and the entire circus doted over her. Everyone was so excited to have a new member of their family. Whoever this kid was going to be, you just knew you would love them unconditionally. Mary reassured you for the millionth time that she would be alright before she and John were ushered up a small ladder that led to the top of the tent. You, on the other hand, were standing by the curtain, waiting for Haly to announce you. 

"And now...our next performance needs no introduction...you know them...you love them! The Flying Graysons! Featuring our star Fire eater (P/N)!" 

As soon as you heard your name, you ran out. Instantly lighting your torch and twirling it around while taking a sip of alcohol. You spat the liquid at the flame causing it to poof into the air as soon as Mary did a flip in the air and caught John's arms. 

Nothing could ever satisfy that rush in your heart. The thrill of the crowd's reaction to your tricks. The high it gave you was better than any drug. Here you were, twirling two flaming torches in your hand as you watched above you. John and Mary Grayson were flying through the air. No one knew who to watch first. The couple who seemed to defy gravity, or the woman who could eat fire. Even with them in the air and you on the ground, everyone could see the chemistry you had. It's why your combined act never failed. With a big smile, you leaned back while lowering one of the torches towards your mouth. The crowd watched in awe as the fire went into your mouth. You popped your head back up with the extinguished torch in your hand. Tossing it to one of the helpers, you lifted your now free arm in the air while twirling the other torch in your hand. 

John, swooping down picked you up and you were now in the air. An act practiced hundred of times. His legs holding onto the trapeze as you both circled around the tent, the torch never falling from your hand. 

Your act was truly amazing, and it seemed to catch the eye of a certain crowd member. Bruce Wayne. Growing up, he loved to visit the circus with his parents. After their death, he avoided anything to do with it. Now he was back, but under different circumstances. For a while he'd been investigating the circus. He recently found old notes left by his father. The Court of Owls. A secret society of the Gotham elite. Their goal is to rid the city of crime, by any means. He wasn't surprised to know that his father had come in contact with them, but was surprised to see the theory that Haly's circus was a front. The members were training to be potential Talon members. The Court's lethal assassins. The circus always seemed to favor Gotham. Their stop here would last weeks while other stops would last days. Most of their members were young, and always seemed to vanish from the show after a while. He was here to find out the truth, and put a stop to it. At least he hoped he could. It was difficult to fight a conspiracy that his father barely had proof on. 

Despite his goal, he couldn't bring himself to move from his spot. You were gorgeous. He had a genuine smile on his face while watching your act. He's seen fire eaters before, but something about felt different. You didn't seem corrupt or up to no good. You looked as if you truly loved what you were doing. Maybe he could recruit you? Having inside knowledge would be beneficial. 

Your act went on, and you left the circle with loud cheers. Your heart was racing so fast, it felt like you were going to have a heart attack. John and Mary arrived shortly after with large smiles of their own, "You did amazing!" You squealed while hugging them both. You were new to the acrobatic world, but had the best teachers in the world. 

After the show ended and everyone turned in for the night, you were sitting outside of your tent. Your throat is slightly irritated from the alcohol, but nothing too bad. Luckily tomorrow was an off day for the circus. You could rest a little before practice. It was a peaceful night, and you were happy to relax in it. At least until a deep and intimidating voice nearly scared the skin off of you. 

"(Y/N) (L/N)? We need to talk."

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TAGLIST

@maxinehufflepuffprincess @tayswhp @rainycloud858 @luna-zendra-star @starlets-things @simpfourmarvel @kawaistrawberry21 @js-favnanadoongi @kodzukenmaaa

[badbtssmut]

Cult 0T7 fic.

What happens when one’s sin is too big for the highest deity to forgive? Seven individuals who have committed the most hideous crimes, show up at your town; paying the holy leader of the cult heaps of money to have you cleanse them of their sins. Whatever happens in a cult, stays in a cult.

Contains: cult themes, public sex, rough sex, members fighting over who can fuck y/n first, members are driven crazy by lust, double penetration in pussy, triple penetration ass and pussy, double blowjob, attempt at trice blowjob but fails, riding, idk what else

Admin note: I deliberately kept any details and references to any religion as vague as possible.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was the last full moon of the month, a time for celebrating the harvest and honoring the God that you and the people you cherished worshipped religiously, night to day, day to night. A special night, as it was only on this night where mortals were granted forgiveness for sins that wouldn’t be excused by human beings; sins that were too vile for any mortal to overlook, but a sin that a God could forgive, so long as you repented.

So long as you repented…

…and had sexual intercourse on the last full moon of the month, a practice that all of you were willing to participate in. Word got around quick and sex tourists desperately tried to participate, but your town shouldn’t be seen as some sort of sex theme park. No, this was a sacred ritual that you and the other people in the town participated in, to the point where you all saw it as an act of tradition without batting an eye at the freakiness of it all.

The head of the cult would never steer you wrong, he knew what was best for the town.

“Seven individuals have come to partake in our tradition tonight.” The wise man spoke, a smile plastered on his face. “We know that seven is a sacred number, don’t we? This cannot be a coincidence! It is the will of the Gods that this will be done. Our town will prosper, I assure you all of this.” He spoke to the crowd, his eyes gleaming in the light of the candle and fire.

He looked back at you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you ready, my child?” He led you to the hot springs. “The Gods will surely be pleased with this outcome, as will we all be once the harvest is bountiful in our town.”

You were more than ready to go through with this, the Gods would bless the town.

You left the man behind as you were welcomed by the two elder sisters who prepared you for the tradition; scrubbing your body, soaping it, and then softening your skin with a blend of almond and coconut oil. Your hair was dried before they wrapped the silk robe around you, a hug and a kiss on the cheek given by one of the two, before you walked off and made your way to where the tradition would take place.

There was an open space in the far back of the town; far enough to scare off tourists but near enough for interested townspeople to come and have a look. It was surrounded by torches and candles, an altar placed at the center of the open area, decorated with roses, lilies, and daisies. A swing hung from a tree, a bed of soft furs and blankets a few feet from the swing, and water flowing nearby.

Seven wooden chairs were lined up in front of the altar, each seat occupied by seven strangers, before you could have a closer look, the leader of the cult spoke up.

“Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Jung Hoseok, Min Yoongi, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, and Jeon Jungkook, you are all welcome here.” The man glanced over to the crowd before looking back at the men. “May the Gods be gracious to us all, for we are all pure-hearted, and our intentions are true and good, we come together for one goal and one goal only: the will of the Gods!” The audience clapped, some of the older ones praying under their breath.

You sat on the furs, the silk robe still on, and you watched the seven men walk down the path that the people created for them. It wasn’t something you’d normally think about, but you couldn’t help but notice how handsome each of them were, every man holding a unique feature that made you stare.

You laid back on the furs, a pillow under your head, and waited, watching as they undressed themselves and like a pack of wild animals, they pounced on you. Hands roamed all over your body, fingers pinching and twisting your nipples, fingers rubbed your clit, lips sucked at your neck, hands caressed your thighs, tips were pushed at your entrance before you were forcibly pulled back by another member who was eager to fuck you first.

They argued, they bickered, they fought, they shoved each other, your body bounced back and forth as they wrestled and tried to pull you into their arms, Yoongi grabbed hold of you and dragged you across the furs and blankets, before the rest of the men piled on top of you, two cocks pushed into your mouth while another cock rubbed against your face.

You looked up to see that the three cocks belonged to Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin. In your left hand, you held Namjoon’s cock, while your right hand held Hoseok’s cock. There were so many cocks that you were starting to lose count.

You felt Yoongi’s tip push in before it was abruptly pushed away by Seokjin’s tip, their cocks pushing and rubbing against each other before both slid into your pussy. You let out a gasp, mouth wide open, cocks slipping out, before they were hastily pushed back into your mouth. The two men inside of you fucked you in tandem, their cocks brushing against each other.

You took shaky breaths through your nose, focusing on sucking their cocks, while also focusing on rubbing the cocks that you held in your hands. Seokjin held onto your hips while Yoongi’s fingers dug into your ass, them both pushing you back and forth on their cocks, bouncing you back and forth. Taehyung who was rubbing his cock against your face, felt himself grow impatient, and pushed himself into your mouth, but when he realized it wouldn’t fit, he pulled back out.

The citizens watched, some bursting into tears, others clapping, a few cheering, the majority chanting and praying, but they were all proud of the ritual being carried out so far. They’d make sure to praise you after you’re done, bring you gifts and your favorite treats as a reward for your outstanding work.

You felt Seokjin’s pace turn sloppy and frantic, his moans louder than before, and not even a second later, he came. He filled you up first, panting, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. He stayed inside of you for a while longer, until he finally pulled out.

Yoongi didn’t allow anyone to take Jin’s place, he continued fucking you, his pace fast and hard. You couldn’t help the lewd noises that slipped past your lips, and you didn’t care how loud you were. The only thing on your mind was the cock slamming into your pussy.

Jimin switched places with Taehyung, now his cock in your mouth while Jimin stepped back and enjoyed the show. Jungkook tilted his head back as he pushed his hips further towards your face, digging his cock deeper into your mouth.

Soon after, Yoongi’s seed spilled inside of you, and you clenched around his cock. He groaned, biting down on his lip, pulling out of you. Your pussy was only left alone for a few seconds before Hoseok eagerly took the spot. He sat down next to you before he pulled you onto his lap, earning some annoyed groans and glares from the men as their cocks slipped out of your mouth and hands.

Hoseok lifted you up and down, bouncing you on his cock, and he held a smile on his face at how soaking wet and warm your pussy was. Namjoon took the opportunity to ram his cock into your needy pussy, both him and Hoseok fucking you in tandem, and the pleasure was too much. You screamed and moaned, the cocks stuffed inside of you were making you feel lightheaded. You could feel Hoseok’s tongue drag over your neck as Namjoon kneaded your chest, your breasts filling his large hands.

Your ears rang, your mind went blank, and everything felt blurry, but the men continued to fuck you. Your head tilted back as Namjoon and Hoseok changed the rhythm, Namjoon pounding into your pussy while Hoseok slowly fucked into you. The three of you continued to go on like this, the cocks stuffing you to the brim, until Hoseok and Namjoon both came, their seed filling you up.

One of the sisters on standby, stepped in to offer you a cup of water, before she bowed and stepped back, not wanting to stand in the way of you finishing. You took a minute to breathe and catch your breath, before the three youngest were left.

You were taken away from the blankets and brought to one of the chairs, where Taehyung sat down and pulled you onto his lap. He held you into place as he pushed his errection into your ass, stretching your hole and earning a squeak from you. As he fucked your ass, Jungkook and Jimin stepped over. Jungkook went straight for pushing his cock into your pussy, while Jimin decided to make you suck his cock for a few minutes before he also pushed in his cock into your pussy.

The chair creaked and shifted under the weight and force of the three men fucking you relentlessly, but you couldn’t even hear it, your hearing fuzzy and your sight blurry.

“Oh! Oh!” You gasped, eyes wide and mouth agape, unable to do anything but allow the three men to use your holes however they pleased. It was too much— too much pleasure at the same time, but it was so good, too good. Drool dripped down your chin, your hair a mess, your robe abandoned somewhere on the ground. First Taehyung would thrust, before pulling out, which was when Jimin pushed in, along with Jungkook, before they’d switch their pace and start alternating again.

Taehyung was the first to come, his seed spilling inside of you, and as soon as he pulled out, it was when Jimin and Jungkook came as well, filling you up with their seed.

You were left panting, drool dripping from your mouth and tears in your eyes. The sisters stood by your side and wrapped a warm towel around you. Your legs were shaking, and you felt wobbly so you sat back down, shit, you needed a break after that.

“Now I declare, that all of you have been cleared of your sins…

Jungkook, Battery

Jimin, Extortion

Taehyung, Kidnapping

Seokjin, Murder

Namjoon, Burglary

Yoongi, Cybercrime

Hoseok, Arson…”

[ludwig-van-gaythoven]

Cabin Fever - (Regina George x F Reader) Part 4

Fandom;

Mean Girls (2024)

Pairings:

Regina George x Reader

Summary:

The students of Northshore go on a school trip for a week in the forest. You end up getting to know the apex predator in a way you’d never seen her before.

Warnings;

Implied ED, Claustrophobia

Parts:

Part 1// Part 2// Part 3// Part 4

You can feel Regina’s lips on your skin all morning. The aching pain in your hip is now replaced by a warm longing. It’s a pretty good metaphor for Regina herself. She can bruise you so easily and then make it all better.

She kissed you.

Why did she kiss you?

Was it because she felt so guilty about hurting you and couldn’t find the words to tell you? That had to be it. The other option briefly crosses your mind but you quickly dismiss it. This is Regina George. Less than 2 days ago she didn’t know you existed. She’s the Queen of the school, why would she want to be anything to someone like you? The thought is disheartening but it's much better than falling victim to a disappointing fantasy.

Regina is already gone, as usual. At least it gives you some time in the morning to sort your thoughts into nice neat boxes and get yourself ready without the distraction.

You know that today's activity is caving. Working your way through a man made cave system sounds much better for you, at least your feet are firmly on the ground. You decide on a pair of jeans, another band tee (Is that really all you packed?) and throw a hoodie on top. The caves might be cold and it’ll stop you scraping up your elbows while you navigate tight crawl spaces.

You make your way to the Campfire pit to be shown today's activity. The instructor tells you all to find groups or pairs. You don’t even bother glancing in Regina’s direction, she’ll be with Gretchen and Karen. You don’t mind going through it alone. It’s better than being paired up with a stranger. It would be much more fun with Janis and Damien though.

You feel a slight not in your stomach at the thought of Janis. She’d tried to call again this morning but you didn’t have the heart to answer in case more lies came tumbling out of your mouth, so instead you just sent back a quick text letting her know you’d call this evening and put your phone on silent.

You’re led to a door in the side of what looks like an oddly shaped hill which contains an intricate man-made cave system. Some of the group drop out saying they’re claustrophobic and don’t want to go through. It’s understandable, you wish you’d been given that option on the high ropes.

The instructor lets each group go through every 10 minutes to allow the first group to be a decent way through and avoid traffic. You end up behind the plastics in the queue again. It’s not exactly accidental. Hopefully Regina doesn’t notice this.

They go through first, you try not to make it too obvious where your gaze lands as Regina gets on her knees to crawl through the cave entrance. She’s wearing a pair of tight, black leather trousers and a pink tank top. It frames her body perfectly and you understand why most of the boys at school stare openly when she walks by. How are you only just noticing how hot she is now?

10 minutes later you’re instructed to go through. You crawl, squeeze and climb through the narrow passages of the cave. It’s pitch black, you have to use the head torch on your helmet to navigate.

It’s quite fun, you like the challenge. The further you get into the cave system, the harder some of the tunnels get. Some have passages you have to squeeze through sideways. Some you have to be on your stomach, sliding under. Every so often there are larger chambers you can have a break in and stand up fully. You slip through a narrow tunnel and into a larger chamber and your headlight catches a pair of eyes. You have to physically put your hand over your mouth to stop yourself screaming when you see a human figure cowering in the corner of the cave. You realize it’s Regina and she looks terrified. Her makeup has run slightly as if she’d been crying.

“Hey, are you okay?” You try softly, but Regina is shaking too much to respond. You crouch down to her level and try and meet her gaze.

“Where are Gretchen and Karen?” You ask. From what you can tell, they’re nowhere in sight and you can’t hear their chipper voices up ahead.

“They went on ahead.” She answers, her voice barely a whisper.

She glances over at the next tunnel, you can tell because her head torch illuminates the passage. It’s tight. Possibly the hardest one to get through so far. You move to look through and see another chamber with specks of light. This must be the final challenge.

“I’m pretty sure this is the final tunnel. I can see the light on the other side.” There’s no response from the blonde, she must be really scared.

Why did Karen and Gretchen just leave her like this? You know you wouldn’t have. Did Regina ask them to go ahead so they didn’t see she was this afraid? She doesn’t hide her fear in front of you, she eats with you and she laughs and plays geeky games with you. You guess she only agreed to go through to protect her reputation, it seems more than its worth keeping up her act.

“I can go first, then you follow and I’ll pull you through so you’re out quicker.” you say, standing to walk over to the tunnel and offering her your hand.

“Please don’t! you’re going to leave me here.” She cries, her lip is trembling. You wish you could comfort her better but you’re not sure what she’ll allow and you don’t want to push your luck.

“Regina, I promise I won’t leave you. I’ll crawl through and pull you out the other side. You just have to follow after me, I won’t let anything happen.”

“....You promise?” She whispers.

You take one of her hands

“I promise”

Her hand is so soft, just as you’d expect. Just how you’d expect the rest of her to feel. You squeeze her hand in encouragement before you bend down to crawl through the tunnel. Once you reach the last chamber you see there’s an exit door. You sigh in relief.

“Come through now, I’m at the other end, there’s a door here!” you shout, hoping she can hear you from the other side.

You hear shuffling from the end of the tunnel and bend down, ready to pull her through. As soon as she’s in arms reach you swiftly pull her out and she lets out a shaky breath. She quickly puts her arms around your neck in a gentle hug.

“Thank you”

Her breath tickles your neck and you’re overwhelmed by everything about her. You don’t move to reciprocate the hug, you’re still understandably wary after what happened and you don’t want to do anything that’d make her let go any faster.

And then she’s gone. When you leave the final chamber you see her back with Gretchen and Karen, subtly wiping her eyes to make sure nobody sees her smudged makeup. It’s impressive how quickly she can recover and put her mean girl act back on. You wonder how long she’d had to wear that mask.

You head back to the campfire pit for dinner, but you don’t bother going to eat anything. Regina had said she wanted dinner with you again. You couldn’t shake the thought that it felt like a date, but you couldn’t let yourself think like that. Regina had Boyfriends, and had already bullied Janis for her sexuality. You had to be more careful.

You wait for about 30 minutes after dinner at the campfire pit has ended. Regina doesn't show up. That serves you right for thinking Regina even thought of you as a friend, let alone thinking of your secret dinners as a date. You’re just there for her convenience.

You feel a squeezing sensation in your chest. Why did you let it bother you this much? You decide you need a distraction so go to the river close by the camp and ask one of the instructors if you can borrow a canoe. You’e allowed but you have to sign the boat out and make sure it’s returned within 3 hours. That’s fine, you want as much time away from the cabin as you can. Away from Regina’s stuff, away from her sweet vanilla scent, away from her giggle that still felt like it was trapped between the walls, away from Regina.

You take the Canoe to the edge of the river and lower it in, you hop down into the small boat and pick up the oar ready to set sail.

“Hey, what the fuck?” you hear a familiar voice yell.

All of your resolve to forget about her disappears when you see her at the bank, above your boat with her arms folded and one eyebrow raised. It’s intimidating.

“I saw you walk off earlier. What happened to dinner?” She scoffs “ Nobody stands me up, where are you going?”

“I didn’t think you were coming, I waited for half an hour.” you respond, you wish you could sound as confident as Regina but it just comes out as guilty, like a scorned puppy.

She drops down into the boat and sits facing you. Her eyes are challenging.

“I’m coming with you. I’m not allowed to go back to Karen and Gretchen’s cabins anyway.” That stings a little. So she’s not just spending time with you because she wants to.

“And I guess you’re not bad company.” She adds, rolling her eyes.

That makes your heart flutter and you hand her an oar and push off from the bank. You’re not sure where you’re going and Regina doesn’t really help row much. Luckily the flow of the river helps pull you downstream.

You’re not sure what possesses you but for a moment you forget who you’re in a boat with and dip your oar into the water, you pull it out fast and splash the blonde who is now looking at you with an incredulous expression.

“What the FUCK!” She screams as the cold water hits her.

You can’t help but laugh. It wasn’t a lot of water but you can see some droplets running down her cheeks. She growls in frustration and dips her hand in the river to splash you back.

You shriek at the sensation of sudden cold, but you’re still laughing. You see her lips curl in a smile too. You’re not sure if she’s laughing too or just proud she managed to get you back.

Unfortunately your oar can create a much bigger splash than her hand and this time you hit her with quite a lot of cold water to her chest, narrowly missing her face.

The look she gives you makes your knees weak and you regret the choice immediately.

Shit. You might have taken it too far.

She lunges for you, grappling for the oar. You lean left, trying to stretch the oar right out of her reach. Her body is sliding against yours, you can feel the cold patch where the water soaked into her top. Her face is millimeters from yours and you glance down at her lips. If you just moved forward a tiny bit your lips would meet, she probably tastes like vanilla too. She leans on the edge of the boat, inching forwards. Everything feels like it's moving in slow motion.

The weight of both of you on one side is just slightly too much and the canoe flips, dunking you both underwater. It’s freezing and makes you gasp when you breach the surface in a state of absolute shock. Regina splashes her way to the surface beside you, she’s gasping and her eyes are wide, black mascara dripping down her face.

A giggle erupts from your lips and it's not long before it's a full blown laughing fit. Regina giggles too, its a loose and carefree sound, it might be your favorite.

You swim over to her and flick some water at her, she squeals and throws some back your way. No use going easy now, you’re both soaked.

You manage to flip the canoe back over with some effort and both climb back in. You have no change of clothes and you’re both so cold your lips are turning blue so you decide to turn back.

“I’m so sorry I left you earlier. I didn’t think you were coming.” You chatter between shivers.

“I even stole these sandwiches from dinner for us, but I don't think we can eat them now.” She shudders back, pulling out two dripping wet sandwiches from her pocket. This makes you both burst into another giggling fit.

She shifts over to sit next to you and rests her head on your shoulder. Even though you’re soaked you feel your whole body heat up, especially your cheeks from the interaction. You rest your head on top of hers, surprised when she doesn’t pull away.

You make it back to the bank without going for another unexpected swim and tell Regina to go back to the cabin while you return the boating equipment. There’s no use in both of you staying freezing.

She’s already showered by the time you’re back and sitting on the edge of her bed. She gives you a shy smile and you dip into the bathroom to warm up. The water gives new life to your icy skin, as it washes down your face you can’t help but remember Regina’s soft lips just centimeters from yours. What would have happened if the boat hadn’t tipped? Probably nothing right? You’re just overthinking it.

As you start putting your pajamas on you notice your phone buzzing again. It's Janis. It’s reasonably late enough to pretend you're asleep so you swipe the screen to decline the call and put your phone in your pocket.

When you go back into the bedroom, Regina is under the covers, scrolling her phone but she sits up as soon as you come in.

“Hey, uh I wanted to say thanks for today.. you know, helping me, and I had fun.” She thinks for a moment. “Having fun with you is easy.” she adds with a small, sleepy smile.

“If I check my schedule I’m sure I can fit you in tomorrow evening.” You laugh, pretending to think over exaggeratedly.

She rolls her eyes with a smile.

“Goodnight Loser.” She yawns.

“Night Regina” You reply

Just as you’re about to lay down you hear a muffled voice from your pocket.

“What the fuck, are you talking to Regina?”

Shit.

[terry-perry]

okay I need some more alastor x Carmella’s daughter!

can we have an imagine this time of that situation?

"First the Princess of Hell, and now you've gone for one of Carmine's brats? You really have no shame, do you Alastor?"

Right on cue, Vox was ready to confront Alastor after the last Overlord gathering, not caring that everyone was still around to watch. It was just like the Vees to want an audience. Had it been anyone else, Alastor would've torn the obnoxious picture box to shreds and have his torment recorded for his next show. Vox wasn't worth the effort, however. In fact, Alastor knew of a better way to destroy him.

"My friend, there's no need for such jealousy," he started with the nonchalant tone he knew drove Vox crazy. "It's not my fault my natural charisma led to such powerful allies while all you can conjure up are underlings who do nothing more than feed your fragile ego."

That certainly struck a nerve since Vox began to grind his teeth as his stare grew more intense. Alastor simply stayed calm as he subtly carried a tone of smugness. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to have lunch with my lady love, whom you will not disrespect again," This was the only time he chose to strike actual fear in Vox's heart as he switched to his Radio Demon persona by darkening his eyes and letting his figure grow into a form that better radiated evil. "Not unless you wish to be a new voice for my broadcast..."

Vox could only stare in bewildered silence as Alastor threatened him. The jab was bad enough, but the last statement stunned him enough to merely nod.

"Darling?" A third voice that differed with its femininity and lack of intensity came through. "Ready to go?" Y/N asked her boyfriend, bearing no mind that he was in almost full demon mode.

Alastor snapped his head around in her direction, calming down instantly. He supposed he made his point, and he was rather famished.

"Ready as always, my dear!" He replied, offering his arm to her which she happily accepted. "I know a lovely little bistro that serves excellent venison."

They walked past the still-emasculated Vox who was doing his best to refrain from buffering.

"Always fun catching up with you, old friend!"

----

Alastor would be lying if he said he wasn't caught off guard by Carmilla's sudden invitation to her home. She may have been Y/N's mother, but he rarely interacted with her sans a few polite greetings whenever they saw one another. According to Y/N, she did approve of him, it was just hard to gather since for every jovial "Hello!" he'd give her, she'd return with a small nod and acknowledging hum. It could be rather off-putting for someone like Alastor who thrived on other's reactions to all he did.

Some feared him, which always brought a certain giddiness within him that bordered on titillating. Some believed they could outmatch him in the battle of wits, which he was always ready for with a good put-down.

Months ago there was that precious giggle his dearest Y/N let out to alert him that she carried a torch for him. He knew right away that was something he could use to his advantage. Working with the heir to Hell's throne was already advantageous, but being involved with one of the daughters of an Overlord with the largest assembly of weapons in the city was something that could make his position all the more concrete. Pestering gnats like the Vees, even with their childish disrespect, knew opportunities like this don't just come every day. It was most likely why Vox tried to provoke him like he did.

So this was why Alastor had to be sure he had Carmilla's approval since it would cement him further in his current position. For someone who believed a smile could go a long way in keeping many guessing, he was certainly thrown off his game by her lack of expression. He could only hope this invite to whatever this was could keep things favorable for him.

Alastor was welcomed in by no one as the door opened on its own like always. He stepped into a large sitting room which contrasted with the one at the hotel as the latter was bright and rather tacky. The Carmine household was more gloomy, yet rather welcoming. He thought it was because the room he was directed to had walls completely covered in books. No doubt his bookish Y/N inhabited this room often, having the habit of sticking her nose in one. Currently, however, sat her mother in an armchair, staring passively at him like always.

"Alastor," Carmilla greeted him, waving him forward. "Glad you came. Please sit."

She gestured him to a sofa next to her seat that he accepted, along with the glass of bloodred wine she offered. Sadly it was just that - wine. It will have to do.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I called you here so unexpectedly, without Y/N," she began, all business and direct, as always.

"If this is about my altercation with Vox this morning, I apologize," he said. He wasn't really sorry for putting the noisy picture box in his place, but whatever kept him in Carmilla's good graces. "As you know, he's an old acquaintance of mine. Things between us can get rather-"

She held up her hand to stop him before taking a sip of her wine. "That's not why I called you here. I've learned not to pay the Vees any mind long ago. No, I wish to speak to you about your relationship with Y/N."

At this, he kept his smile intact as always, but it held a certain wariness, a curiosity. He hoped she couldn't tell how he was preparing himself for whatever she could mean. She sat further back in her seat, studying him it seemed. When he chose to stay quiet, she continued. "I understand you're a busy person, as am I, so I'll do us both a favor and jump right to what I wish to discuss," without hesitation, she did just that. "I want you to marry Y/N."

Alastor could barely cover how he winced at that - the static emanating from him didn't help. Even with all the theories he conjured for this meeting, he didn't imagine this.

Carmilla must've noticed how she caught him by surprise since this was the first time he saw her look amused at the situation. She seemed to want to play with him since she took her time with her next sip before deciding to reassure him. "This doesn't need to happen any time soon," she said. "I don't expect you to get engaged tomorrow. I only want to give you my blessing if that's where you two end up. I find it beneficial for you to know beforehand because you're a businessman before anything else. You won't do anything unless you know it'll benefit you. It's why you're with my daughter in the first place, right?"

Well, there was no use denying it, so Alastor shrugged. The wariness, however, remained. "Y/N is quite a lovely lady with a certain sweetness and intelligence that I find endearing. If she so happens to come with a powerful family, then who am I to not want to get closer to someone who can mean a lot to me?"

Carmilla once more studied him stoically, which had Alastor's wide grin falter. "If I were in you, I'd do the same, I suppose. Which is why I know you'll continue to treat her well. You'll continue to meet her, talk with her, and if it gets to that point, marry her. If not, you'll go about your business like nothing. You're smart enough to know that you should treat this like any other transaction. If any issues, deal with me. Are we clear?"

Oh, she was making this too easy. Alastor almost wanted to let out a cackle of triumphant laughter. Had she stuck out her hand to shake he would have. For now, he'd settle for the clinking of glasses that signified a toast.

One marriage, coming up!

[fallingintoyourlilaceyes]

My little winter rose (Aemond Targaryen x Little red riding hood!Reader)

synopsis: On your way to visit your grandmother, you meet a handsome stranger that points you towards some lovely flowers. Little do you know what else that aquaintance holds in store for you...

warnings: slight dubcon, p in v sex, mention of severed body parts, afab reader

word count: 2.3k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you to the wonderful @slytherincursebreaker for requesting this piece. I hope you like it as much as I loved writing it!<3

Dividers by @valeskafics

For as long as you were old enough to roam around Winterfell and the surrounding woods, you heard the same thing every time. "Beware of the one-eyed beast in the woods" or some form of that sentence. You knew it by heart, saying it along every time it was spoken. Yet you had never seen a beast, no matter how often you wandered through the trees you called your second home. However, it also led to you becoming less watchful every time, thus not noticing how the so proclaimed one eyed beast very much saw you. Grew taller as you did with age until he towered over you easily, his mind darkening with thoughts as yours brightened with entirely different ideas. Going unnoticed day after day after day. Another institution set in place that you remember ever since you could think was a group of hunters going out every night. Their torches burning like the fear in their hearts, sharp swords, spears and weapons of any kind held close to their bodies that would always return marred. Sometimes you would hear rumours that people that died at an earlier date were taken by the beast while hunting for it alone.

You understood all of it, though that didn't mean you liked it. The sight of the hunters was one you hated. It was a surprise that with their viciousness the "beast didn't las out more or come closer to the village. Not even all the understanding of the human mind in the world could have saved you from hating the head of the hunters with a passion that burned even brighter than any fire ever could. Howland Reed and his relentless pursuit of trying to win over your affection by bragging about hunts long over and how well equipped he was to hunt the one-eyed.

"Red! Where are you off to?" He yells from a distance to stop you, as he trots over to you. Cursing him out in your mind in return, you oblige and wait for him to catch up with you, putting a smile on your face as you did so. Even the nickname everyone called you due to the red cloak you wore at every given time, sounded so gross from his lips you wanted to puke. "Oh, I am merely off for a visit to my grandmother." You chirp in the politest tone you could muster.

“Well, how lucky I must be to catch you then? You see, I just had some modifications done to keep you safe better.” He presents you with one of his hands and you see exactly what modifications he talked about. His nails had been filed into sharp points and seemingly coated with silver to harden them, just like claws. The pride in his face makes it hard for the polit mask to stay on yours.

“Say, Howland.” You take a deep breath in to keep it together as you speak. “I have been wondering something lately. Mayhaps you will be able to answer the question.”

“Ask me anything you wish and rest assured that the smartest man around will surely give you an answer.” He makes it so hard not to throw up right then and there.

“You are too kind. Now my question is, if you are as smart and strong and skilled in hunting as you proclaim… How come that one-eyed beast has not been slain yet?” You don´t stay to hear his answer, instead you hide a giggle behind your hand and go off on your merry way.

With the light of the early afternoon sun in the sky you have little concerns or cares about the safety of the forest. Humming the sweet tune of a song that you had often sung with your grandmother when you were younger, you skip along the way.

The deeper you get into the wood, the colder it gets and so, while you wrap yourself tighter into the red cloak, you almost run into what you at first think is a tree. As it turns out it is another human, a man and a tall one at that. His silver hair reaches down to the middle of his back, covering one of his eyes and the other you are sure shone in a pretty lavender hue once. If it did it had since dulled to a darker tone. The creases in the pale skin on his face speak volumes on how hard his life must have been. Yet when he looks down to meet your eyes, there is a charming smile set in place.

“My apologies, ser. I should have watched my steps.” You apologize before he even opens his mouth, looking up at him with the most innocent eyes he had ever seen.

“Oh no, by all means, I am the one that has to apologise. You are not the only one that should have watched where they were going.” The beautiful stranger replies in a velvety smooth voice.

"Please, I insist. If I would have stopped for a moment, I would not have run into you." You reiterate. "Alright." The stranger lifts his hands in mock surrender. "May I ask where a young maiden like you is headed? All alone in these big woods." "Well, for one I am not alone. Clearly." You go to answer with a waggish smile. His grin widens in response and his voice deepens for a moment as he speaks. "I would not be so sure that is such a good thing." His words hold a sense of warning that you swiftly ignore to tell him where you were going. "I am on my way to see my dear grandmother. She lives not far from here."

"My, what a sweet girl you are. Your grandmother can count herself lucky to have you." You hadn't even noticed so far, but when he continued speaking his voice registers almost right beside your ear. "If you want to bring her some flowers, the winter roses are blooming beautifully not too far from here in that direction."

You follow his finger with your eyes, to see that it isn't that much of a detour.

"I will be going right away. Thank you, kind stranger." You turn your head back to him.

"Oh no, I have to thank you." He murmurs. “And you may call me Aemond.”

“Aemond…” you test the way the blonds name rolls off your tongue and then let your smile widen as you give him your name.

You happily skip along the way, giving him no chance for further conversations as you only turn once more to wave him farewell.

While you busy yourself with making the most beautiful bouquet of winter roses and greenery, Aemond goes off with a new plan in mind to finally get you.

The task takes you longer than you would have thought and so the sun stands high in the sky when you continue the way to your grandmother's house. It begins to grow dark when you arrive at the small house in the middle of the woods, so it is no wonder you find your grandmother asleep in her bed.

Gently you shake her awake by the arm. “Grandmother, are you well? I came to visit you." "My sweet girl, is it really you?" The old woman's voice sounds different than normal, though you can't quite put your fingers on the exact way it does. "It is. I brought you some flowers and a cake I baked." You set down the flowers in a vase on the bed side table and sit on the edge of the mattress beside her. "Oh, you are so good to me. Come, lay down. You came all this way and I could not possibly send you home in the darkness." Without any questions you obey her, pulling off the cape and dress until you are only left in your small clothes. Through the thin fabric the cold air makes your nipples harden and so you hurry to climb underneath the blanket.

Once in bed, you notice the long scar over the left side of her face, with the eye seemingly missing entirely. “Grandmother, what happened to your eye?” The words come out dripping with uncertainty.

“Bad men took it, but you need not worry about it. They are not able to hurt anyone anymore now.” The answer does little to quell the questions on your mind.

"My, what big hands you have, Grandmother?" You continue questioning.

"All the better to hug you." Comes the quick explanation.

"And what sharp teeth you have..." Your skin begins to prickle and the air becomes harder to breathe. Something in the way your grandmother pauses before answering, makes the hair on your neck stand up. Too late to react, as you get pinned to the mattress with surprising strength.

"All the better to eat you!" With a swoosh the blanket and who you thought was your grandmother's clothes get ripped away, to reveal Aemond sitting on top of you.

He grabs your shift and easily rips the fabric off your body, leaving you gasping, wide eyed and unable to cover yourself as he still pins your wrists above your head with one if his large, strong hands.

The cold air, that streams in through the cracks in the window frame, has your nipples harden even further, until they stand painfully against the heat of your admirers’ chest. Instinctively you lean further into him to catch more of his warmth. Aemonds hard cock presses between your folds, twitching against your entrance, to collect some of the juices that flowed between your thighs.

“Will you be a good girl if I let you go now?” He growls lowly into your ear, eliciting a quiet but eager nod from you.

Slowly the pressure around your wrists vanishes to come down to hold you by the hips. Aemond leans down to capture your lips with his. The slow, but nonetheless passionate nipping at each other’s mouths gives the perfect way for him to express every last bit of longing and yearning that had coursed through the blond’s body ever since he first laid his eye on you. The kiss deflects your attention from the way Aemond rubs his erection against your dripping centre until he has buried himself entirely in it. His tip nearly kisses your cervix and the way your cunt adjusts to his form makes your entire nervous system burst into flames. The flames lick only higher as Aemond absolutely ravages you, rutting into you with inhumane pace and without abandon. It seems he fucks deeper into your tight channel with every thrust, that is accompanied by breathily whispered praise of how long he had waited for this moment and how well you took him. Every once in a while, when a pained whimper leaves your lungs, he kisses your forehead, rubs a few circles with his thumbs into your hipbone and shushes you in the most loving tone anyone had ever used on you beside your family. Yet Aemond doesn´t slow down. Not until you are first to reach your peak and he had made sure to shoot his seed so deep into your core it was sure to take.

Aemond slides out of your sensitive cunt and sits back to catch his breath.

“Are you alright?” he inquires short of breath.

“I am. Perhaps I will be a bit sore for the next few days.” You jested back with a raw voice.

“Ah, my apologies. I simply found myself unable to hold back any longer. I have been watching you for so long, my little winter rose. Imagining how it would be to touch you, to claim you, to finally take you as my wife in the face of the seven…” The one-eyed man sheepishly rubs his neck as he confesses to his desires.

Desires that make your face feel like it is on fire once more and your brain is entirely empty. “Is that the truth?”

“I could never lie to you about the graveness of my affections towards you.” Gently, Aemond takes one of your hands into his and presses a kiss to the palm of it.

“Oh, Aemond…” You melt at the show of affection. “I wished nothing more than to be able to be with you for the rest of our days, but I fear it is not possible. For my parents have already promised me to another.”

“Worry not. I have already taken care of that.” The blond stands up to offer his solution to the issue. A severed hand lands between your legs on the bed.

You gasp and raise your eyebrows, but before any question can claw its way out of your lungs, the sharpened silver nails catch your attention. It was Howlands hand that lay there presented to you as if it was a trophy. However, it does not disturb you. On the contrary, it makes you feel strangely appreciated, that someone would go so far as to secure you being with them.

“How dare that son of a whore go after my wife.” Aemond growls and his forehead lays into deep creases.

Careful not to kick around the severed body part, you stand up as well now, stalking over to Aemond on mildly trembling legs. When you reach him one hand goes to his shoulder for stability and the other rises to his face to run the thumb over the space between his eyebrows until it is even again.

“There is no reason to get angry about him anymore. My heart never belonged to him, but it will forever belong to you.” The two of you share one more kiss. This one much more slow, but just as emotional, to seal your future together.

[bunny-yan]

ahhhkk i'm so in love with yan priest! part 3 maybe? 🫣

TW: Threats, Manipulation, mentions kidnapping, power imbalance, erroneous use of religion, minors DNI

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Walking down the dilapidated steps to the basement, he held his breath to avoid inhaling the dust caking the walls from years of neglect and unuse. He’d made a mental note to assign some of the new initiates to scrub it clean when they were safe to work in silence. 

A judging gaze swept from wall to wall, repressing a sigh as he promised to do better. No one was perfect, something he knew instinctively. Hours of praying and offering fealty to the goddess let him know there were many areas he was lacking. 

Before, he seemed content to simply accept it as truth, but his recent discovery set alight a dangerous desire to be more than the cap containing the mediocrity of human existence. He wanted to appear perfect, unblemished by the world’s greed and untouched internally by hate. 

He chanted softly, light gathering around his hands before he set the full tray he was carrying on a wooden table. Bringing the light to the torch he watched as his hands glowed from the soft flame that began to spread light throughout the room. 

The priest knew he was long way from his goal when he turned and glowing eyes met his. 

It would happen in due time. Until then, he wasn’t completely against indulging in simple pleasures of the flesh. The goddess would understand. 

“How are you?” his voice strong and carrying through the wide enclosure though he spoke softly. Picking up the tray, he walked closer to the bars that held one of the few treasures that life had to offer. “I seem to recall you weren’t feeling too well so I brought some things for your throat and that headache of yours.”

Walking closer to the bars, he couldn’t help but feel like a predator from the way your eyes watched him warily. 

He stooped to set down the tray and push it through the little opening carved in the bars to allow meals for their guests, eyes widening when he stood and was face to face with his rebellious captive. 

Faster than his eyes could follow, your arm snaked through the bars and grabbed a fistful of his priest’s robes before yanking him to meet your face against the bars. Was he the prey?

“Let. Me. Out.” you growled hoarsely. 

He looked between your eyes, his own softening at the sight of anger and hurt bleeding through your gaze. 

“Did you spend all night yelling again?” he asked, cocking his head to the side with a concerned expression. “I’ve already told you that holy power can only heal the damage to a certain extent. You have to give yourself time to heal.”

“Shut up.” you told him, shaking him forcefully as you shook your head. “Shut up. Stop pretending like you care about me. I wouldn’t be in this cage if it wasn’t for you.”

“You’re right.” he said, catching you off guard. 

You stood frozen as his hand slowly reached through the bar before cupping the side of your face with a gentleness you didn’t know he was capable of. Sliding his hand down your face you felt something ominous from the light brush against your lips before his fingers were gently wrapping themselves around your neck. 

You felt the familiar warmth of power flow into you, relieving the scratching tension in your throat as his cold voice said, “If it weren’t for me you’d be dead somewhere, a used up pawn in someone else’s game.”

You jerked away from his touch, hand touching your throat as you glared at him. He returned your look with a simple smile, bringing his hands together and beginning to chant. 

You watched, as you had the last days you spent awake, as the bars slowly disintegrated before disappearing in a burst of brilliant light that emanated from the priest. His eyes were closed, brows furrowed in concentration as he finished the remainder of the chant. 

You knew from experience that there was no point running to the stairs. The bars of your cage had replaced the open doorway that led to your enclosure. You could bang on the bars, pull at them until your fingers bled, but they were just as strong if not stronger than the bars that initially held you captive in half of the room. You could attack him, hoping to interrupt his incantation, but an unknown force would throw you back and the bars would be up before you could recover the stolen breath in your lungs. It didn’t help that he would take it all in stride. Looking at you with pity in his gaze before offering to heal your new wounds and bruises. 

The furniture reconfigured itself to a bedroom’s design, the priest walking to pull out a chair in front of the wooden table to sit down as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

You were once again, frozen, mesmerized as you finally allowed yourself to watch the transformation instead of making an escape. 

“I could’ve taught you how to do something like this if you would’ve taken me up on my offer.”

Your gaping surprise turned into stony silence as you pierced him with a glare. 

“I already explained to you that I have my family to take care of.”

“You are taking care of them.” he said, sweeping a hand out. “They’re being sent ten times the salary you made as a cadet in your name. Your family will want for nothing.”

You felt a rising desperation as you sensed that the argument wasn’t going to be in your favor.  

“But that’s-”

“Your mother won’t have to work another day in her life. She can hire others to replace your younger siblings on the farm. They can go to school if they desire or laze in luxury for the rest of their natural born lives. What is so unsatisfying about this deal?”

“I don’t want to be here!”

Silence.

It spread between the two of you, tension thickening in the air. You felt uneasy from his unchanging expression, unsure if you preferred the naturally cold gaze to the soft concern that often adorned his features when it was concerning you. Each felt equally dangerous. 

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether you should say something by way of explanation, but you didn’t owe it to him. You didn’t owe him anything. The priest you’d once admired had completely disappeared into this possessive stranger when you’d finally made up your mind to reject the offer to work under him. 

The deal was nice, but you didn’t think temple work suited you. Hours spent cleaning and praying, offering obeisance to the goddess day after day before being cooped up in a room to memorize scriptures. It was a stuffy life. 

A life that lacked adventure, change, freedom. 

You wanted to scoff at where that line of thinking had gotten you. 

Your reward after fighting for years that bled together like a singular memory was a cell, cold and dark, deep underground where no one would ever hear you scream. 

You’d become paranoid. 

Hearing things that weren’t there, seeing figures lurk in the shadows. You continuously had to remind yourself that it wasn’t real. That you were alone down here. It only made you spiral further. 

Would he forget you down here? He came every day with that light you had begun to unconsciously crave, brightening the dreary room to offer you food and water. 

It didn’t seem likely from the way his eyes never left your body, watching you so carefully as if he’d miss a simple flutter of your eyelashes if he looked away for even a moment. 

It was disgusting how relieved you felt. You knew there was no chance of you starving, having been forgotten in your prison but a part of you resented him for it. Resented his bleeding concern, his presence, his kind memory that was constantly being overwritten by the worshiping hunger in his eyes. A hunger that he seemed to derive pleasure from the longer he left it to rot and spread. An unsettling feeling, being left to wonder when  his eyes would  resemble a starved animal’s, unthinking and vicious.

“You should eat before your food gets cold.” he said. 

Your eyes left his to trail to the tray of food. 

A part of you wanted to ignore him, but a gnawing hunger moved your body before you could deny yourself the pleasure of his vexation. 

Picking up the tray filled with things you liked, you reluctantly sat across from him. 

The priest reached into his robes to offer you utensils to eat your meal with and it only sparked further irritation in you. 

What was with this needy reliance? 

You were stuck underground, presumably unknown to the other priests since he was your only visitor, one that you received twice a day every day. You’d ask him to come more often before being hit with a knowing yet longing gaze, the combination making the hairs on your arm stand on end. You wanted to see if there was a way out, knowing you could only search when he was here, but your hope died when he rejected you. Didn’t want the others becoming suspicious of his frequent trips to the basement. 

 He brought your meals, offering small incentives like books to pass the time with when you showed rare compliance. You could only read in his presence since he refused to leave the light burning despite your repetitive ignored pleas not to be left in the dark. 

You were left wondering what his angle was, leaving you to fumble around in the dark which became increasingly exasperating when you had to relieve yourself. You supposed it went back to him slowly forcing you to rely on him for things as intimate as your vision. 

It almost became natural, feeling that uncomfortable gaze dissecting you as you brought a spoon to your mouth, relishing the taste that permeated your mouth. 

You often wondered where your meals came from considering the priest’s were resigned to eating bread and water unless it was a special occasion. For some reason you couldn’t picture him cooking in a kitchen, preparing your food in a methodical manner as he followed detailed instructions to make the dishes, but you didn’t ask. You weren’t back to having carefree conversations with the priest you’d once regarded as a friend. You didn’t know the person sitting in front of you. 

He cleared his throat and you looked up to meet his disapproving gaze. You looked on with a sour expression, but allowed the spoon to clank against the bowl as you reluctantly took his outstretched hand. 

“Goddess, we come to you today to offer thanks.”

He continued his prayer, offering thanks for the food you were eating and praying that you received her blessings as your body was nourished. You’d considered telling him where he could go shove his prayers, but after witnessing that cold, hard stare as he walked away with your tray, you were sure you didn’t want to see it again. Fasting would be your penance and there was no arguing with someone who’d grown up knowing a body would be just fine without food for a couple of days. 

It wasn’t like you hadn’t ever experienced going without food for a day or two. With a big family and an uncertain crop yield, you made sacrifices as the oldest to make sure your younger siblings were well cared for. But farm work among other responsibilities kept your mind off of the emptiness in your stomach. You had to go days without food out in the field. Exhausted and constantly weary, it was hell but you could rely on your bestfriend to take your mind off of the pit growing inside of you. In your prison, darkness was your only comfort and it didn’t offer much. It was all you could think about as you tried to sleep off the gnawing sensation. 

You wanted to be angry at the priest, but he’d relinquished his own meals for the duration of your punishment—penance—making it difficult to complain when you saw how unaffected he was by your “whining.”

Losing another meal was the last thing you wanted. 

“And let us thank you for continual guidance and love as we learn to appreciate where fate takes us. You know all and with open hearts and minds we bring ourselves underneath your infinite wisdom to gain a speck of understanding of your great plan.”

His thumb brushed over the top of your hand and you made eye contact with him as he said, “Even as we resist your design for truth and lack understanding for the things you will.”

Eyes widening at his implication, you wrenched your hands out of his grip, but his fingers slapped around your wrists like shackles before you managed to pull away. You struggled, but he continued his prayer as if you were listening faithfully. 

When he let go of your hands you rubbed the raw area glaring at him as you stared at the food in front of you. 

A part of you was nauseous, unwilling to take even a bite after that self serving prayer of his. 

“You should take more time to understand that your sacrifice is a blessing.”

And he continued to disgust you further. 

“Can you stop?”

“I don’t expect you to get it right away, but eventually you’ll learn that this was for the best.”

“Stop!” you yelled, the word emphasized by the fist that slammed down on the wooden table that creaked under the force of your blow. 

“Prayer will help with impatience and anger. We can begin after you finish your meal.”

You hated his unbothered tone. It was as if he didn’t hear a word you said. 

You couldn’t deny that prayer was often something you turned to whenever someone you loved got sick, or if someone you cared about was going through a rough time. It even offered you solace on the difficulties you faced, but you doubted the goddess would be willing to listen to your prayers when it was her faithful servant who’d trapped you 40 feet below ground in the first place. 

It was hypocritical and hearing those words come out of his mouth made you want to scream. You didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. You didn’t want to listen to his excuses disguised as wisdom and concern. 

Shoving a warm spoon of soup in your mouth, you tried to bite down the anger and restlessness because any emotion other than obedience wouldn’t bode well for you. It was against your better nature. Against all of the training you’d received. You’d learned the proper way to act if you ever became a prisoner of war, but your training didn’t cover the behavior a soldier should take, should your imprisoner be one of the priests meant to aide you. He kept saying that this was for your benefit and it wasn’t like he was wrong when he claimed that you would probably be just another body, used until the senseless fighting ceased, but this was wrong. Forcing you to remain in this damp cell while others, while your best friend, risked their life. If this had something to do with his personal belief, that war was wrong, where were his other victims? The other soldiers he’d whisked away from the battlefield? It’d make sense to separate you, but he couldn’t imagine the church having so many neglected rooms. Cleanliness was next to godliness, as the saying went. And there was more than enough space down here for at least one other person. 

You hated to admit it, but if he did have another person trapped, you wished they were here with you. A companion against the silent darkness was a guilty craving you couldn’t tame and those disgusting feelings of relief that came when he showed his face were only growing the longer you were forced to sit in isolation. 

But there was the other possibility. That he’d taken you alone. 

The thought erected goosebumps on your arms. It was insane, but as little as he visited you, it didn’t make sense for him to come twice a day and care for multiple captives while remaining undetected. But if this was true, it begged the question, why you?

You didn’t want to be crass, but you weren’t really special. Reasonably attractive by your own standards, fit because of the training you had to keep up with, and not an awful person. It described most of the others you spent most of your time with. You weren’t this great conversationalist that was able to enrapture everyone in the room, or possessed the beauty that could do the same. There were others with better bodies, minds and understanding that dwarfed your capabilities in every way, so why did he take you? You’d only interacted on a handful of occasions, none of which were spectacularly worthy of note. In fact, your initial interaction was pretty embarrassing since you were unable to remain conscious. 

“Are you finished?” he asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

You knew it was no use thinking about questions he would never answer. 

Nodding your head, you watched as he picked them up before placing them off the side. He’d take them with him when he left and wash them. Wouldn’t leave you with anything you could possibly make a weapon out of. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

He came back to the table, extending his hands for you to place your own in. It wasn’t a question. If you refused to pray with him, your obeisance would be a fast that would last until your stomach threatened to cave in on itself. 

Placing your hands in his, you noted the way he took a deep breath before closing his eyes. It was more of a calming gesture than one meant to prepare him for prayer. 

“Dear Goddess, we come to you today to offer obeisance.”

He started all of his prayers the same. 

Giving thanks, proferring gifts to be offered at a later time, out of sight, and pleading for forgiveness as he repented for his mortal sins. He always seemed to linger in repentance. 

His hands would crush yours in his grip, holding you as if he’d never let you go, worrying you when you would begin to feel pain. The first couple of times he looked guilty when you protested, seeing the bruises form underneath your knuckles, but these days he remained indignant. Uncaring about your temporary pain as he struggled with something you couldn’t begin to understand. 

It always lasted too long. 

You were grateful that he didn’t force you to kneel as he had the first couple of days. It was rough on your knees and the friction rubbed them raw the longer you stayed in that position. It was a show of piety, he would say when you complained, but when he caught you glaring at him angrily, he decided that sitting across from each other would be better. 

For you or for him, he wouldn’t say. 

You were silent, thinking about what your mother was doing, whether she was happy, whether she ever wondered where you were, and why you never wrote. 

If your siblings missed you. If they enjoyed school, assuming the priest kept his word and they were being paid for your imprisonment. 

Enough to never want for anything. 

You wondered if your best friend was okay. If she was still alive and if she was still serving. 

It made you feel incredibly empty. 

Having no one to talk to other than your kidnapper. Wondering how others lived as your own life came to a grinding halt. How you could expect another year of this, wondering if you could even handle another day. 

You felt tears well up in your eyes. 

For the first time, you felt it was all hopeless. 

You couldn’t keep the emotion welling up inside of you to yourself as you choked on your tears. The priest looked shock, his grip loosening on your limp hands as he looked at you, unsure how to respond. He was used to putting up with your anger, your hatred, but something warm filled him at the sight of your tears. 

“It’s okay.” he said simply, releasing a hand to brush the tears flooding from your eyes. 

He got up, coming around the table despite you shaking your head, lazily attempting to pull your hand away to refuse him, but you couldn’t help the desperate need for closeness as he wrapped his arms around you. He comforted you gently and despite your better judgement, you wrapped your arms around him. Burying your face in his robes as he cried. 

Head tilted towards the goddess, he sighed as he gripped the shirt around your back. 

“Thank you,” he offered, solemnly ending his prayer. 

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [PART 4]

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 6.7k

Summary: 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon.'

🌶️Obligatory Warning for Some Descriptions of Violence & Mild Suggestive Content

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

As detestable as they were, at the very least your assailants were well organized.

You were plopped neatly at the center of the room, in a very conspicuous location that would have made it difficult for a hypothetical someone to, say, just flat-out torch everything in sight without also catching his very tiny, mortal, companion up in said firestorm.

The group of them split off to tend to their tasks with a frankly shocking level of competence and foresight. Was this how adventurers were actually supposed to work? They didn’t just—I don’t know—saunter into an abandoned castle on a whim and a prayer, with no real end goal in sight and nothing but the perpetual bounding of a singular, shared, braincell to keep them on their toes? There was a plan? What was this madness.

“How much time do you think we have?” one of them called, busy working to set up some sort of wire trap that, in your humble ‘I have faced this legendary dragon and survived’ opinion, looked like it would do exactly diddly squat.

“Enough,” the Elf Wizard shrugged, thin arms crossed tight across his equally gaunt chest. “These vermin don’t have the same concept of time as we do. It may return soon, but we may also be waiting hours.”

Hours? Hours? You fought the urge to groan. And then remembered it hardly mattered if you did or not, because you were still trapped in a bubble of perpetual Silence, and that just made you want to groan louder.

Assumed-Rogue nodded tersely in response and continued constructing his pseudo-trap. The long, red, stripes of his sleeves were odd things—very in-your-face bold for a dude whose job you assumed it was to slip through shadows unseen. But then you noticed that the threads he was spinning were pooling from those slashes of crimson, and alright, that was fairly cool. ‘Your failure of a stealthy design gets a pass this time, good sir.’

“You’re certain this is one of the Briar Beasts, Lord Flamm?” Armored Lady piped in, busy shifting through the various swords strapped at her hip.

“Of course,” he hummed, flicking through his spell tome. “Have I ever led you astray before?”

Armored Dude snorted from his place across the room. “You’re not the issue. I just have trouble believing one of those monsters would still be alive at all after all this time.”

‘Lord Flamm’ snorted. “And why not? They’re like cockroaches—thriving through the worst of the world and gorging themselves on its corruption. This one is no different.”

Your brows twitched irritably.

Thankfully, Silence was not an indefinite spell. And after about ten minutes of muzzled misery, you felt its sticky, gauzy, gunk wash itself out of your throat.  

“I’m getting the impression that you’re really not a fan of dragons,” you said, testing your volume.

Lord Flamm stared down at you with a hawk-eyed sort of sneer. His pale, green, glare felt like a tangible thing crawling along your skin.

“They are unnatural,” he huffed after a moment. “No creature should walk the planes of this world for such a great span of time. Immortality is a perverse transgression against the sanctities of life and existence.”

“You are literally an Elf,” you replied, incredulous. His face scrunched up like you’d forced a whole lemon into his mouth, and then he dropped another dome of Silence over your head.

Another ten minutes crawled by, and words returned to your tongue.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit hypocritical?” you hummed, casually testing the arcane restraints binding your limbs. Those seemed to hold themselves in place with a great deal more fortitude than his on-again-off-again Mute Button, which was as frustrating as it was respectable.

“It’s not nearly the same. I was born into my burden,” he sniffed.

You blinked, confused. “I mean, so was Tsunotarou.”

Elf Wizard made a punched-out sort of noise, like you’d decked him right in the spleen.

“You named the beast?” he gawked. “Like a pet?”

“Look, man,” you grouched, offended on your scaly friend’s behalf. “If anyone’s the pet here, it’s me!”

Lord Flamm’s face went white, to red, and then nearly puce.

“Wait,” you spluttered. “That came out wrong—”

And then you were gagged once more.

The next time your muzzle was lifted, Lord Flamm was already pacing along the little, invisible, edge of the spell’s cage. You cleared your throat and he came to a stop a few feet away from where you were bound.

“I can see what’s happened here,” he said, stern, and you arched a brow in disbelief. You didn’t even have any solid idea what the fuck was going on, and you’d been living it for the past few weeks. He cleared his throat and glowered down at you. “You’ve been taken in by the monster’s wiles.”

You spluttered. “Not to just keep repeating myself, but really, if anyone did the ‘accidental seducing’ thing here, it was—”

He waved you off with a puckered grimace. “That hardly matters. At the end of the day, you are still the creature’s prisoner, and it is my duty as a man of integrity to assist you however I can.”

You frowned. Because while this whole thing had technically started as a hostage situation, it hadn’t really felt like one lately. Sure, Tsunotarou still threw tantrums that shook the foundation when you’d tried to put up a makeshift bathroom door, but he also listened to all your stories with the rapt attention of someone genuinely invested in the garbage pouring out of your mouth. He tucked you into your big mattress nest at night with his scaly nose, and endured all your griping with nothing but good humor. He showed you his treasures and told you terrible, dry, jokes that you were sure you only found so funny because he certainly hadn’t meant to be.

You sighed and dipped your head, expression shuttered.

Lord Flamm stepped forward and you felt a thin, gloved, finger tuck itself beneath your chin to tilt you back up to face him.

“I will save you,” he promised, something genuinely sturdy and righteous coating the words. “If you ask it of me.”

You took a deep breath in through your nose.

“There once a man from Trebucket,” you chirped, letting the jaunty tavern melody roll off your tongue like any good Bard ought to.

Lord Flamm arched a thin brow, in equal parts amusement and exasperation.

“Who really only wanted to find the dragon so he could fuck it—”

His face twisted in rage, and to the surprise of literally no one, you were Silenced yet again. Though this one felt the most like a victory so far.

And thus, the cycle repeated itself. Every quarter hour or so, the spell would drop and you’d start babbling some sacrilegious, borderline pornographic, nonsense that had him cursing you all over again. You counted each round of mockery softly in your head. Half to keep time, half to—

Your gaze trailed past the intricate, stone, entryway and caught. Perched atop the overhang were two gargoyles. Which was quite odd, seeing as you’d spent half a month living out of this room now and had never noticed them before (and you certainly would have, what with your host’s propensity for pointing out the gothic carvings each and every time one popped up in the castle’s architecture). Not to mention, they looked an awful lot like the pair of grey monsters which had been guarding the entrance when you’d first slunk in—the very duo that you’d sworn had tracked you and your friends with beady, gemstone, eyes and dug their pointed talons through solid rock.   

Ancient buildings always seemed to have a life about them—never quiet, never still. Always settling with strange noises and shifting shadows that danced oddly along surfaces that were forever decaying. And this castle was no different. So it took you really listening, really closing your eyes tight and straining your ears against the perpetual white noise, to make out the low grinding of the Gargoyles as they shifted atop their perch and curled their sharp claws.

You tilted your head at them, curious, and the one on the left seemed to bristle. As much as stone could bristle. The one on the right very softly dipped its chin, almost like a bow. Its purple, glass, eyes flashed in the lowlight.

‘Wait,’ that look said.

And so you did, sitting straighter and at proper attention.

The group of Dragon Slayers was still milling about making preparations. Eventually, one of the two yet-unclassified hench people slunk from the room, and when your gaze slipped back to the gargoyles, the one on the right was gone.

You made eye contact with the remaining carving, and it curled its lip at you like a grumbly hound.

There was a scream from beyond the threshold, and then a great clattering of noise not unlike an earthquake, or the resonating crunch of a building crumbling at its base.

Immediately weapons were drawn, shoulders hunched in panic. Defensive magic swirled through the air like ink in water.  

“What’s going on?!—”

With a shrieking roar, the remaining gargoyle lurched forward and collided with one of the armored attackers. The impact was like a crack of thunder, and it rattled around your skull like a gong.

And with that—dragon or no—the battle against the Hunters had officially begun.

With a panicked squawk, you began worming your still very bound self out of the dead center of this tornado of chaos. You flopped across the floor like a particularly determined caterpillar, or someone trussed up a in a sleeping bag with no limbs. You made it almost a solid twenty feet before you were scooped up by the back of your collar and dropped onto your knees.  

“Not so fast, you little cretin.”

And then there was a curved knife at your throat and a set of hands trapping your own. You gulped and the blade bobbed against your chin. Stupid rogues with their stupid stealth. You grit your teeth and clenched your fists, willing the meager scraps of magic that twirled in your veins to bob to the surface. You could feel the trace rumblings of a Thunderwave reverberating down your limbs, and it was certainly no Fireball, or Lightning Bolt, but maybe it would be enough to—

There was a spray of red, red, red and the Striped Rogue at your back collapsed in a puddle of gore.

Standing over the corpse of the felled assassin was a boy. Or, well, something that very much looked like a young boy. Or, not young. Just… It was strange. He was small, slight, with a cheerful youthfulness to him. But the mirthful expression lighting his crimson eyes chilled your bones like the seeping cold from a long-forgotten tomb. It was like looking at someone with dozens—hundreds—of faces. A kaleidoscope of lifetimes. It was disorientating.

“Hello, you,” the little demon cooed. He reached out to tap a clawed finger against your forehead and the arcane binds holding your limbs shattered on impact. “Let’s get you out of here, hmm?”

Something tugged at your brain as you gaped at that mess of choppy, black-and-pink, hair, and the glittering irises that matched the blood splattered across his cheeks almost too horribly well.

“Are you… Lilia?” you asked, dazed.

“Well done, little human,” he trilled, lips curling in delight as he hauled you back to your feet. “But there will be time for proper introductions later. Let’s get you somewhere safe first, before my silly ward really does tear this whole castle down.”

“Tsunotarou is here?” you frowned, anxious. “But these people are here to kill him.”

“We’ve done our best to keep him away for as long as possible,” Lilia hummed. “But I doubt he has much more patience for skulking about in the shadows. He never did,” He sighed, long and world weary. “And I loved this old haunt so much too. I hope it survives.”

“You—” you gawked. “You’re talking about the castle?!”

“Of course,” Lilia smiled, perfectly sweet. “Swatting these pests is going to cause more damage than they’re worth to begin with—”

You were yanked out of the path of an encroaching blade, and Lilia sidestepped the pair of you smoothly to safety.

“You’re not going anywhere!” the Paladin thundered, hand whipping out to leash a whirl of vibrating, bright, magic around Lilia’s wrists. “This fight is mine! And you will have no other!”

“Ah,” your savior sighed, looking down at the faint, yellow, glow circling his skin. “Now that is a doozy.”

The great sword came down with a crash, and Lilia ducked away from the destruction with ease. He gave you a light tap on the shoulder, pushing you forward, and you felt the flush of a Haste spell nibbling at your limbs.

“Go on ahead,” he said, with all the nonchalant politeness of someone lamenting that they were going to be late for afternoon tea. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

BOOM went the now glowing sword as it sliced through the air where your savior had been standing not a moment before.

“Do not take me so lightly, wretch,” the Paladin spat, and Lilia’s civil little smile twisted into something that sent shivers racing down your spine.

“If you insist,” he beamed, with a level of enthusiasm that was bordering on sociopathic.

You didn’t stay to see the fallout. Lilia’s orders to flee aside, you knew well enough what a cat looked like before it pounced—that smug, animalistic, satisfaction that came after deciding that it was going to play with its meal for as long as it liked. And the grinding, snapping, howling noises coming from their direction was enough to reinforce that looking back would be a very terrible idea indeed.

You’d only just made it past the threshold and out in the grand hall beyond when there came a whining groan that sounded familiarly enough like the protesting noises the banister would make whenever Tsunotarou dropped too much of his weight on top of it. You peered back into the room, and from the darkness at its rear emerged a long, thin, snout.

The Great, Ebony, Dragon slithered forth from the blackness like a snake through the grass. The sharp drag of his claws against the stone was earsplitting, and when he spread his wings behind him, he seemed to cast the entire cavern into shadow. Faster than you could blink, one, two, three of the Slayers were scooped up by those massive, pointed, teeth and tossed through the air—wherein the pair of gargoyles descended upon them like a set of well-trained attack dogs. Your dragon swiveled to spit black smoke across the rest of the echoing room and its occupants. Between the swirling smog seeping from his throat and the blackness of his wings, the brilliant, green, glow of his eyes were the only source of light in the gloom. It was all horribly eerie, but mesmerizing in a way that reminded you exactly why so many ballads and epics had been written about the terrible might of Dragons.

He reared his head back and roared. His bellowing seemed to shake the very foundation of the castle, and the sparks jumping from behind his canines bit through the smoke with harsh little pop-pop-pops. And man oh man, he reallymust have been taking it easy on you and your duo of idiots, because this would have had the three of you shitting your pants on the spot.

From there, the battle more or less became a one-sided massacre. The stone soldiers flew through the air, decimating the opponents as their master demanded. Occasionally there was a flash of pink, and then a cheerful laugh followed inevitably by a noise that was all kinds of unpleasant. And at the center of it all was your newfound friend—picking apart the opposition with all the careful rage of someone determined to sear the consequences of these Hunters’ folly into the memories of their lineages for ages to come.

And then—amidst all the quite frankly epic fighting that you would have to tell Ace and Deuce all about when they came back to visit—you noticed that not far from where you were hiding observing was a familiar, angry, gaunt face. Lord Flamm’s elaborate black and maroon robes swirled around his ankles as he paced, and he was leering at the chaos unfolding not a hundred feet away with an expression that calling murderous would have been kind.

You bristled immediately, limbs lancing through with a tight sort of indignation.

He was just—right there! Standing all the way out here! When the rest of his party was busy being chewed to itty-bitty pieces!

And sure, rationally you knew that Wizards were squishy, glass-canons not meant for close combat more intense than a round of rock-paper-scissors. Sure, when you and your idiots had been facing down a dragon, Ace and Deuce had ordered you and your equally ill-armored self to run for it. Someone had probably hurled the Elf from the room the moment combat began, or demanded he whirl away to safety.

But you wanted to be angry. Because this was the man who had strode, eyes wide open, into a hornet’s nest with the sole intention of crushing the poor bugs beneath his heel. He deserved to bear the brunt of the miserable, stinging, backlash.

It certainly didn’t help that he was glaring down Tsunotarou with near frenzied loathing. The tome in his hands was flipped open to a dense spell that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and he was casting. Something tedious, and extravagant, and with enough somatic nonsense to make your head spin. His gloved fingers glowed beneath a growing mote of magic that shone horrible and bright in the natural shadows of the castle. Whatever sort of magic it was, it was strong enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and push frantic adrenaline through your veins. Sigils swam through the air, and you swore you could feel it sapping at your own tiny pool of mana. If this was some kind of spell that would gobble up magic, then a dragon who was nothing but magic—then Tsunotarou—he would—This spell might actually—

You ran at that wretched little bitch with everything you had, and tackled him to the ground just as a bolt of crackling, pale, force magic boomed from between his fingers. The spell shot wide, and you thanked every divine being you could think of for the enduring shittiness of Wizard Muscles.

“I should have known you’d risk your life to save that unholy monster,” he seethed, rolling back to his feet and sending you tumbling off the side.

You stood firm and silent between this awful, garbage, Elf and the Dragon he so hated.

Lord Flamm raised a hand in your direction, incensed, and then you watched as something sharp and frightened slithered its way across his features. No sparks danced along his fingertips, no black miasma curled from his palms. You shoved your hands into your pockets and rocked back and forth on your heels like the most obnoxious piece of shit you could be.

“Wow,” you drawled, low in your throat. “That was impressive. I mean. How many times did you cast all those spells on me earlier? I’m shocked you have anything left.”

The already dark look coloring his face twitched into something truly foul.

“You were doing that on purpose,” he snarled. “You vile, loathsome, bumbling ignoramus of a bard!—"

“Ah, stop, stop!” You beamed, fanning yourself with a limp wrist. “You’re going to make me blush~”

You ducked out the way with a yelp as a mote of fire whizzed past your ear—singeing far too many hairs at it went. Because fuck fuck fuck. Cantrips were still a thing. And he was powerful enough that those simple, little, bits of magic would still probably be more than enough to fry the meat off your bones.

“It’ll be enough to kill you,” he seethed—like he could read your thoughts—teeth tugged into a hideous, gaping, sneer.

Your mind zipped through every possible escape route and settled frantically on the only option that had ever truly seemed to save your ass.

“What white teeth you have?” you tried.

He roared and another shot of brilliant, red, flames careened over your head.  

You ducked out of the way with a squawk just in the nick of time, nearly faceplanting into a wall in your haste.

And thus ensued a terrifying but morbidly hilarious Benny Hill chase through pillars, and behind rocks, and into holes. You killed your singular, daily use of Misty Step just trying to get out of one of said holes. And your brief attempt at tossing up a Mirror Image to throw off his groove did little but get you whacked with a Counterspell that made your bones ache.

Just as you’d burned through the last of your meager magic and were genuinely preparing to just try and deck the guy again, black smoke began to curl through the hall—soon followed by the ominous roll of thunderous growls and the heavy grindingof a gigantic beast clawing its way into the room.

You threw yourself at the dragon with more enthusiasm than was probably proper for a situation like this, and he immediately ducked his head to catch you against his snout. He curled himself around you with a rumbling snarl and your vision was drowned in a shifting sea of ebony scales. You squished yourself into his bulk with a shuddering sigh, fingers clutching a bit uselessly at the slippery surface of his natural armor.

A burst of orange flames rolled harmlessly off Tsunotarou’s scaled side and his lips curled unpleasantly over his canines. You could see the licks of emerald fire rolling off his tongue—dancing along his white teeth and lighting the hall in an ominous, sickly, glow.

Before the pair of you, Lord Flamm looked half-mad. If not fully consumed. His party wiped, his hostage freed, and the creature he hated so fiercely baring down on him with no escape.

He let his head fall back with a discordant trill of laughter and grinned at the approaching dragon without a hint of repentance. Fear, perhaps. Panic, certainly. But no remorse. He raised his hands once more, and another dredge of his own fire sparked along his fingers.

“And he shall smite the wicked and plunge them into the fiery pit.”

The Great Briar Beast of Old opened his gigantic, black, maw and choked the hall in a torrent of emerald fire.

And Lord Flamm and his Dragon Slayers were no more.

You stared intently at the singed corridor, as if waiting for one of the piles of ash to jump to its feet and pull a sword. Which you might have excused as paranoid fretting if you hadn’t heard of necrotic magics capable of doing exactly that. But after a long moment of waiting with bated breath and tight fists, the monsters did not rise from their graves, and all seemed to be truly well and over.

You let out a gigantic gust of a breath and collapsed bonelessly against the dragon at your side. After a solid minute or two of just awkwardly trying to find a good way to hug a giant lizard more than a dozen times your size, Tsunotarou slipped out of his scales, and then he was warm and fleshy in your arms once more. Still too big, still earth-shatteringly strong, but human-shapedenough that you could merrily settle into his embrace without the risk of becoming a pancake.

“Tsunotarou!” you chirped past the lingering haze of smoke. “You’re okay!”

“Me?” he gawked at you. It was an awkward angle to make eye contact, seeing as he’d latched himself onto you like a particularly determined koala, but he managed nonetheless. “You were worried about me during all of that?” He blinked those wide, neon, eyes at you like you were some horribly long and tedious math equation that he couldn’t even begin to make sense of. “You were the one who was captured!”

“They were Dragon Slayers,” you entreated, brow furrowed. “They didn’t need me for much of anything. Of course I was worried more about you.”

When the constipated look on his face refused to fade, you prodded him gently in his side.

“Look, I promise if we ever run into Bard Poachers I will be exponentially more cautious.”

He didn’t look particularly convinced—whether because he was trying to suss out of if something like ‘Bard Poachers’ were an actual, factual, threat upon your person, or because you’d just openly hurtled yourself at a clearly overpowered, feral, wizard with no regards to your already shitty constitution to speak of, so a promise to ‘be more cautious’ was about as good as saying that maybe next time you wouldn’t outright flirt with death. Only subtly. A lil’ bit.

You reached up to smoosh your thumb along the sharp slant of his frown and smooth out the harsh edges that were practically digging into his jaw.

“Tsunotarou, if you keep making that face, it’s going to get stuck like that,” you warned.  

“Malleus,” he interrupted, firm. You blinked up at him slowly and your hand fell back to rest in the nonexistent space between you.

“A what?”

“Malleus,” he repeated, and you felt the weight of the word dance through the air like sparks. Like an invocation, or a curse. “My true name.”

You waited a moment in shocked silence before slowly repeating your own name back at him. He startled and snorted a laugh into your neck, some of that lingering, terrible, tension finally seeming to seep out of him.

“I am well aware of what you are called, Child of Man.”

“…I know that,” you mumbled, fighting the urge to fidget. Malleus, Malleus, Malleus. The syllables sat heavy on your tongue, like your mouth couldn’t figure out how to push them past your lips. “I thought you said that dragons don’t give out their real names.”

He drew back just enough to cup your cheeks in his ashy palms, brushing a clawed finger back and forth against one of the small cuts littering your jaw.

“There is power in a name,” he said. “It is not a gift readily bestowed.”

Then why—

You swallowed, nervous, and one of his thumbs tracked the movement along the hollow of your throat.

“This way, if you call for me, I will always hear you,” he promised, eyes going flinty and venomous as he gazed at the cinder piles of smoking intruders. “And something like this will never happen again.”

“I—I mean,” you spluttered. “Me being—And this being—I mean—” You cleared your throat. “That hardly seems like a good enough reason to—to—” To put something so important into the hands of someone who literally broke into your house less than a month ago. To give something so precious to someone so human.

“Isn’t it?” he smiled, that sharp anger melting back into something painfully soft. Your poor heart kickstarted itself all over again. He ducked forward to press his nose into your temple, and you could feel the soft puff of his breath as his grin sharpened into a smirk. “Though I would have liked to bestow my titles on you in other ways as well, if this little hero would be amenable.”

You squawked, and the only thing that shook you out of the immediate spiral into ‘did he really just ask me to—am I really going to be stuck in every goddamn bard’s trope existence of—of—'  was the merry laughter that bubbled up from somewhere behind you. 

“Careful, my Prince,” Lilia hummed from his place perched atop a particularly large heap of rubble. “If you come on too strong, you’ll only scare them away. Humans are flighty like that, I’m afraid.”

You could feel Malleus’s pout against your forehead.

“Not my human,” he grouched. His hands dropped from your cheeks to encircle your waist and clutch at your lower back. “And that besides,” he continued testily, “you were the one who only just this morning insisted I take decisive action.”

“That’s true,” Lilia agreed with a gentle bob of his head, resting his pointed chin against his palm. “But perhaps three sentences at least before the proposal?”

Malleus blinked, slow and serpentine, before flicking his neon gaze back to you. “That does seem fair I suppose. What do you think?”

“I think,” you gawked, trying and failing to process any of the words that were coming out of their fanged mouths, “that I am having a stroke.”

“NOT ACCEPTABLE!” boomed a voice from overhead. “YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO FALL ILL AFTER ALL THE EFFORTS WE TOOK TO KEEP YOU SAFE!”

You jolted in shock, and Malleus’s talons flexed reassuringly at your waist as he gently turned you back-to-chest so that you could face your accuser. He nestled his chin into your shoulder, and you could feel his horns bump against your skull as he tried to burrow in as close as possible. Which all would have been thoroughly distracting, but then you noticed that one of the Gargoyles from early had landed directly across from you. Its spiked head was swiveling back and forth as it appraised you like some particularly ruffled cockatoo. And that in itself was bizarre enough to help you focus on something other than the weight along your back and the steadily rising heat in your cheeks.

“Uhm, hello?” you tried.

“WE HAVE ALREADY MET!” It screeched. “THERE IS NO NEED FOR INTRODUCTIONS!”

“It talks,” you blanched.

“OF COURSE I SPEAK, YOU IGNORANT ENTERTAINER!” The Gargoyle thundered. Its yellow eyes flashed in indignation. “HOW COULD I NOT LEARN TO COMMUNICATE IN A RESPECTABLE FASHION WHEN SERVING SOMEONE SO MAJESTIC AS HIS MAJESTY?!”

“I think,” the other Gargoyle said, slipping forward so silently you could hardly believe it was made of such strong stone at all, “that what Sebek is trying to say, is that we are happy to finally be able welcome you into our home, even if it is under less than ideal circumstances. And that we are very pleased to be able to speak with you.”

“THAT IS WHAT I ALREADY SAID, SILVER!” the spiky one snarled. No one else looked particularly bothered by his ceaseless volume, so it was probably normal. He stuck his carved nose into the air with a harumph. “AND I HAVE HEARD OF THE WAYS OF YOU TRAVELING STORY TELLERS! IF YOU BREAK MY MASTER’S HEART, YOU WILL SUFFER AN ETERNITY OF TORMENT AT MY HAND!”

Malleus growled, low and rumbling, from over your shoulder. Instantly his stalwart guardian cowed—head dipping like a kicked a puppy.

“Of course,” it continued, much softer. “I don’t think this human would do that. And—And I think my master has made a very good choice in his mate, and I will be happy to serve you too.”

Lilia sighed a sigh that sounded very much like a doting mother overflowing with parental affection. Like the kind of noise one may hear on a cozy Sunday afternoon while helping prepare dinner, or while sitting on a little, floral, couch and sifting through little paintings of grandchildren. There was still blood splattered all along his cheeks.

“It’s so lovely to have the family all together again,” he cooed. “And I do think that you will make such a marvelous addition.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you,” you nodded jerkily, just as your knees buckled and you collapsed to the floor.

.

.

On the first day of the new month, Ace and Deuce made their way back to the forgotten castle nestled in a pool of lava.

“We should never have left them,” Deuce grumbled for what was maybe the ten thousandth time. Ace was sick of hearing it. He was even more sick of the fact that despite being constantly inundated with various versions of ‘oh, we’re such terrible friends,’ the little, twisting, spike of guilt in his gut never grew any duller. Wasn’t that how it was supposed to work? Something-something-repetitive-exposure-therapy, or whatever? This sucked. He wanted a refund on this whole ‘conscience’ thing. Maybe it wasn’t too late to sell his soul and become a Warlock or whatever. Surely that would help.  

“We didn’t have a choice,” Ace reminded him. Again. “They’re okay. I know they are. We’re going to show up and they’ll be, I don’t know, lying in a bed of gold being hand fed grapes or something.”

Deuce made a rumbly, whining, kind of noise that made him sound even more pathetic than usual and Ace sighed, determined to instead focus on the rickety rope bridge swinging beneath their feet.

The ancient, looming, monstrosity of a building was just as cold and dark as it had been the first time. If anything, it was more filthy. With walls stained with seeping ash and the charred, skeletal, remains of something that Ace was definitely, absolutely, not going to think about scattered throughout the grime.

The two of them made their way to the heart of the castle until they were standing at the entrance of a grand, cavernous, chamber that may have once been some sort of ballroom.

Ace didn’t know what he was expecting. Slaver’s coils maybe. A chain around your ankles and rags drooping from your shoulders. Or maybe you wouldn’t even be there at all—long since swallowed down as a little, midnight, snack.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to see you lounging contentedly atop a mountainous heap of soft blankets, with the master of this castle—terror-incarnate, death from above, an eldritch beast ripped straight out of legend—curled along the lumpy hills of your grandiose pillow fort, its great head nestled at your back as you reclined against its scales and chattered away. Like the goddamned, rambling, idiot you had always been.

One of the dragon’s large, green, eyes shifted towards the intruders at its door, and Ace froze in place. You paused your chattering to raise your hand with an excited little wave. Your tattered traveler’s clothes had been replaced with something silken and soft enough that it would probably melt in his fingers, and it swayed like mist around you as you made your way to your feet. You were practically dripping in platinum, and diamonds, and emeralds, and—he was going to stop counting them before he gave himself a conniption.

And yeah… it wasn’t exactly a throne of gold and gemstones, but it was almost just as impressive. And immediately indignation swept through Ace with a horrible kind of vengeance. Because how dare you actually be living it up over here when he had been so fucking worried just lying about all that cool stuff to keep Deuce from storming the castle gates?

“You made it!” you chirped, perfectly merry despite the gigantic maw full of sharp teeth hovering at your shoulder.

“Of—Of course we did,” Deuce stuttered, his blue eyes flicking back and forth so quickly from the dragon, to you, to Ace, to the dragon, to you—that Ace genuinely thought he might be having a seizure. “We promised we would.”

You stopped in front of them with a considerate little hum, sharp eyes tracing and cataloguing their varying reactions. After a moment of what was obviously some very smug preening and even smugger ‘I win this round’ silent gloating, you slipped out of the piles of entangled jewels with an exaggerated shrug. With the exception of an intricately carved emerald pendant hanging softly between the hollows of your collarbones, the rest of the infinitely expensive and rare gems fell to the ground with a series of clattering chatter.

“All that shit is so heavy,” you whined. Whined. Like you had any right to complain about anything at all for the rest of your existence. You leaned forward with a wink. “I was just hoping it’d make your thieving, money-hungry ass, jealous.” You smirked, proud. “And it looks like it worked, you goddamn traitors.”

Ace was about to splutter out the most scathing remark his spiteful little brain could come up with, when Deuce ruined everything by rushing forward like the blubbering idiot he was and scooping you up into a bearhug.

“You’re okay! You’re okay!” he wailed. “We missed you so much!”

“Speak for yourself,” Ace huffed, and twinged miserably when it came out sounding far too soft. He cleared his throat and decided to take a different approach. “You know, last time I was sort of joking about the whole ‘bards and dragons’ thing. But it looks like you’ve made yourself real comfortable. And here I thought you were always super opposed to the ‘fucking my way out of my problems’ stereotype.”

However, because the universe seemed determined not to give Ace any kind of win for the rest of his natural existence, instead of getting all embarrassed and mousey, you just huffed and turned up your nose at him.

“Well obviously not as a dragon,” you complained. “Do you know how big he is? How would that even work, huh?” The aforementioned dragon lowered his gigantic head to settle on the ground at your side, and you leaned against him good-naturedly when he grumbled low in his throat. “Yeah, no,” you said to the beast, rolling your eyes. “Nice try, but no.”

Deuce immediately choked and started hacking up a lung, and Ace wanted to die.

“You can talk to it?” the redhead asked instead of keeling over.

You shrugged.

“Not like this. But I’ve learned to interpret most of it.” You wiggled your fingers. “It’s my sixth sense.”

Ace’s nose scrunched. “Yeah, right. If anything, it’s your ‘I’ve been dicked down by a dragon and think that makes me soooo special now’ sense—”

The great, ebony, monster growled and the Fighter’s mouth snapped shut like someone had taken a hammer to his jaw. You snickered goodhumoredly and elbowed your companion gently at the base of one of its long, sharp, horns.

“He’s just joking around,” you said to the winged horror. “You don’t have to get all defensive.”

There was another grumpy sneer, but the dragon simply settled more heavily at your side with a defeated sort of huff. The gust of a sigh sent a wave of scorching heat along Ace’s front, and he fought the urge to cow immediately and beg for his life. Because apparently that wasn’t going to be necessary, because you had—you had—

“Are you in love?” Deuce blurted, because unlike Ace, the Barbarian was pure, and good, and still didn’t fully understand how eggs worked, let alone the concept of Fuck or Die.

And then you surprised him yet again by getting as flustered as he’d expected you to when he’d accused you (rightly) of bending over for a goddamn fucking dragon.

But before you could answer, the dragon lifted its head to press its temple against yours. Or, as well as it could do that when it dwarfed the lot of you the way an elephant might hover over a mouse. Mostly it just ended up being a very, very, delicate head bump. A deep, warbling, purr started from its chest and rolled all the way up and past its sharp, white, canines.

“Uhm,” you tried again. “You guys are invited to the wedding, I guess.”

“The what?!” Deuce howled, before promptly falling to his knees to fan himself like a devasted matron in a church.

You sighed and rubbed at the back of your head, clearly embarrassed. You mumbled something under your breath that sounded a bit like ‘it’s kind of a whole saga, y’know.’ And Ace, in all his infinite good will, decided to take pity on you just this once. And also because you were clearly loaded now, and all good friends know that sharing is caring, right?

“Come on then, Bardy,” he smirked, leaning down to kick Deuce flatter to the floor—half to knock the guy out of his frantic spiraling, half so he could perch on his back like a chair. Because the stone floor looked really uncomfortable, and he had a feeling that trying to slip into that nice nest of blankets of yours would not end well. “Tell us a story.”

.

.

.

[TAG LIST] CLOSED

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[ichorai]

the scientist & the assassin ; natasha romanoff.

read part two ; afterlife.

pairing ; natasha romanoff x gn!scientist!reader

synopsis ; fragments of time with your girlfriend, soon-to-be-wife, natasha.

words ; 4.4k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, established relationship, scientist au

warnings / includes ; a bit of cursing, blood/injury, set before civil war era, avengers found family trope idec, sexual innuendos, bucky and sam annoying reader lol, steve being an absolute sweetheart, mentions of fire, liho cameo, mentions of yelena

main masterlist.

JANUARY.

Small sparks flew up from the welding torch as you worked the blue flame over the metal, eyes narrowed with concentration. It was a delicate process, and you were taking extra caution not to mess the process up. You were building new protective gear on Nick Fury’s request, and had to make sure that it was without fault. 

Your girlfriend of three years, however, clearly had other plans. Natasha was leaning against your workbench, brows quirked as she repeated the question that had flown right over your head in the midst of your fixation.

You hastily turned the fire off and shoved the protective welding mask away from your face so you could properly look at her. “Huh? Did you say something?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, though not without a ghost of a grin to her lips. With a sigh, she asked the question for a third time. “I know you’re busy making all your little gizmos and gadgets… but are you coming to Tony’s party?”

A beat of silence. You blinked in confusion. It was only then did you realize that your girlfriend was all dressed up, face dolled up with flawless makeup, donned in a silken, viridescent dress that complimented her figure beautifully. “What party?”

“The annual New Years’ party—Tony’s asked you to come a million times. You’re not gonna leave me all alone with him, are you?” Natasha asked, walking closer to you until her nose was only an inch from yours, placing her hands on the lapels of your lab coat, tugging you closer.

A gulp lodged in your throat. “No, ma’am,” you murmured, lips dipping forward to catch hers. 

She leaned back before you could, however, tilting her head expectedly. There was a playful glint to the deep green of her irises. “Go get ready, then. I already laid out a matching outfit for you to save you the hassle. Who knows… maybe we can leave a bit early too…”

Before she could finish her sentence, you were already shirking off your white coat, hurrying out of the laboratory to get changed for the party. Natasha couldn’t help the amused smile gracing the corner of her lips as she watched you scramble away.

FEBRUARY.

Blood dripped from her cheek. Her hair, her dress, her legs. She was drenched in it.

A shuddering sigh of exhaust fell from her split lips. She gingerly slipped out of her heels, holding the two of them in one hand and walking up to the house barefoot.

“Nat,” you whispered in part-horror, part-concern at her bloodied state when you swung the door open.

“It’s not mine,” she hoarsely mumbled, slipping past you, bee-lining towards the bathroom, in dire need of some cleaning.

Her eyes were heavy with fatigue, plagued with memories of the bloodbath of a mission. There were many questions you wanted to ask her, but you held your tongue. She was in no state to answer your barrage of queries, and needed nothing more than someone to care for her, for a change.

Gently, you took her crimson-slickened hands within yours, uncaring of the blood smearing on your skin. You led her to the rest of the way to the bathroom, gently telling her to take a seat on the edge of the bathtub. A small towel cloth was dampened beneath the faucet, and you slowly cleaned off the delicate wounds littered over her arms, her face, and her abdomen. The two of you were completely silent, basking in the comfort of being there for each other. Natasha’s green eyes shone with simultaneous gratitude and hollow trauma. For a moment, it appeared as if she was going to weep, but she kept the tears at bay.

Once you cleaned off most of the blood, you left the bathroom to fetch her some of her sleep clothes—which was really just a worn, sleeveless shirt of some obscure rock band you didn’t recognize, and a soft pair of basketball shorts. She had wiped away the rest of the blood when you came back, stripping her outer layers and shirking them into the sink to wash later.

For now, the both of you just needed to sleep.

She slipped on the pajamas, before settling into the bed with a lethargic sigh.

“Thank you,” she croaked out just as you clambered beneath the blankets on the other side of the large bed.

You hummed in response, roping her close to you, pressing a soft kiss to her hairline. This time, Natasha had to willfully force the urge to cry away.

“Get some rest, Nat. I love you,” you said into her skin.

Natasha relaxed into your hold, eyes drooping shut. She wanted to say that she loved you back, but found that she was already falling into a deep slumber.

MARCH.

“What about Jennifer? She’s in the analytics department,” said Natasha, sipping on her iced tea as she eyed Steve expectantly. “I can set you up with her if you want.”

The blonde man shifted uncomfortably. “I… I don’t know, Nat—”

“For God’s sake, Nat, stop it already!” you exclaimed, but not without an exasperated smile to your lips. “Look at him, you’re embarrassing the poor guy. Sorry, Steve—she’s just looking out for you.”

The hundred-year-old man smiled handsomely, forking some scrambled eggs into his mouth. “It’s fine. I’m not really looking to date at the moment… still trying to figure out how things work this century before I can really settle down.”

“Well, you take your time, Steve,” you told him gently.

“You sure? Rumor has it Allison from human resources has had her eye on you for a while—ow! I was joking!” she exclaimed when you sharply elbowed her in the ribs. “But, really, Cap… I’m happy you’re taking your time.”

The blonde hummed gratefully. “What about you two? Any plans on…” He gestured vaguely, which made you and Natasha glance at each other with a grin.

Your girlfriend scoffed, the green of her eyes glimmering with mirth. “Why? You wanna be the best man?”

Steve seemed to splutter at that, vehemently trying to backtrack. Heat flushed his cheeks a soft pink hue.

“I’m just pulling your leg, Steve,” Natasha quipped, playfully kicking at his foot beneath the table. “Lighten up, will you?”

“We haven’t even spoken about marriage yet,” you chimed in, smiling warmly at the ex-assassin. “But who knows? Maybe we will soon.”

APRIL.

Nails tapped loudly against the surface of the table she was sitting on, legs crossed as she languidly leaned back, staring up at the artificial white lights of the laboratory. She was saying something—something about her last mission with Tony. 

Judging by her expression you quickly stole a glance at, you could tell that she was complaining. There was a slight knit to her brow, and she was frowning ever so slightly.

You made quiet, absentminded noises of acknowledgement as she told her story, nodding emphatically. You were working on a device to immediately disable strong magnetic fields, tinkering with the small bits and pieces with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know, maybe I should just stop worrying about him—it’s not my problem if Tony drinks until he can barely stand up…”

She trailed off, tilting her head back down to watch you work. With an amused scoff, she said your name. Without taking your eyes off your work, you merely hummed, “Mhm?”

“You haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said, have you?”

Hopping down from the table, she made her way closer to you, her fingers nimbly slotting beneath your chin. You met her gaze, briefly glancing down at her parted lips, skin flushing with embarrassment. 

Sheepish, you grinned apologetically. “Sorry, Nat.” She arched a sharp brow and you winced. “I love you…?”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha acquiesced, a ghost of a grin tracing the corner of her lips. “I love you, too.” She let you go to haul herself back up onto the table, swinging her legs in an almost child-like manner. “Anyways, as I was saying…”

MAY.

Sunglasses, glasses of chilled orange juice, and warm sand beneath your feet.

Closer to the beach’s shallow waves, Bruce, Steve, and Clint were playing with a frisbee, while Tony and Thor were off on a ski-boat, skimming across the waters much faster than they probably should be going. The team was on a little mini-vacation, needing some well-deserved rest after going on nonstop, continuous missions.

A book was cracked open on your lap, one that you had been meaning to start for ages now, but never had the time before. Beside you was your girlfriend, lathering sunscreen over her arms and exposed skin. “Did you put on sunscreen?” she asked you, offering the bottle.

“Yeah,” you replied, prying your eyes away from the novel to press a kiss to her cheek, and then another to the side of her nose. 

She grinned beautifully, the green of her eyes gleaming with fondness. “You’re such a nerd. Who brings a book to the beach?”

“Well… look who’s dating the nerd who brought a book to the beach?” you replied with a level tone, trying your best to suppress your growing smile.

Huffing in amusement, Natasha lightly shoved you, taking another sip of her orange juice. “God, it just feels like we never get to fully relax like this, you know? I wish every day could be like this.”

Shutting your book, you placed it off to the side and shuffled closer to her, curling an arm over her shoulders. 

“Yeah,” you hummed, tracing aimless shapes along the skin of her arm. Hesitant, you spoke up again, “Hey, you remember when Steve asked us about getting married?”

“Mhm?”

“Well, uhm…” you started, but thought better of it, not wanting to ruin such a perfect moment as this one by forcing your girlfriend into a commitment you weren’t even sure she really wanted.

When you trailed off, Natasha pulled away from you slightly, her head cocked in an expectant manner.

“If you’re not gonna ask me, then I will,” she told you with a laugh to her voice. “You wanna get married?”

For a moment, you spluttered for words, not expecting this turn of events. 

“You… Nat, are you sure?” you rasped, cupping her face gently. “I don’t want you to rush into anything. Yes, a thousand times yes, but fair warning—it means you’ll be stuck with me forever. Forever is like… a really long time.”

Natasha hummed, leaning forward until your nose brushed against hers. Gods, you loved this woman so fucking much. 

“Sounds like a nightmare,” she whispered, a ghost of a smile to her lips. “Sign me up.”

With that, she kissed you, tasting of orange juice and a tiny bit of sunscreen.

JUNE.

Sam and Bucky hovered around your lab like a pair of incessant flies that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much you swatted at them. 

“Don’t touch that, Bucky,” you found yourself saying nearly twenty times, followed by an exasperated sigh as he would proceed to prod and poke at the machinery. 

Sam was no better, asking you about a million questions in regard to all the different gadgets and gizmos in progress.

On a normal day, you usually wouldn’t let these two into your lab, but you were ordered to fix and improve both of their broken comm links, and made the terrible mistake of inviting them to come watch. Of course, they grew bored of watching you toy with wires and circuits, opting to wander around your lab with wide, curious eyes.

“Hey, what’s this?” Sam asked, holding up a small, black cube half the size of his palm.

“Collapsible motorcycle,” you replied, briefly glancing at him, before returning your gaze to your work on the table. “Just don’t press the button on the bottom.”

Whistling with clear impression, Sam looked nearly tempted to try it out. But he knew you would slice his hand off if he did, so he set the cube back down. “That’s sick, man. Who’s it for?”

“Nat,” you said. “Made it for her. It’s still in its testing phase—I’m hoping it'll be all done and ready by her birthday.” 

Bucky glanced over Sam’s shoulder to look at the cube. “I like riding motorbikes,” he said. “Could you make me one?”

“Unless you could get Fury to order me, that’s a no,” you huffed out with a mild laugh. “I barely agreed to fix your comms for you—which, by the way, how did you even break them this bad? Did you guys pour a bucket of water over and stomp on them, or something?” 

At the memory of Bucky and Sam both accidentally tumbling into a river during a mission, they both grimaced.

“Something like that, sure,” said the century-old man, wearily pulling at his face.

“That’s not fair,” Sam, a full grown man, just about whined. You halted in your ministrations, raising a brow. “How come you don’t make us any fancy little tools or weapons or bikes or magical gizmos, but you make ‘em for Nat?”

Scoffing, you dipped your head back down to continue polishing off their comms. “Yeah, well, she’s my fiance.”

“And?” said Sam, placing his hands on his hips. “Am I not your best friend? Is Mr. Cyborg here not your second best friend?” 

Another deeply amused laugh rumbled from within your chest. “With how you two are behaving, I’d say Steve is my best friend right now.”

The two were left sulking in your lab for the next hour, with Bucky nearly catching on fire when he picked up a flamethrower disguised as a potted plant. Both of them left with charred fingers, singed eyebrows, and about half a dozen of your tiny gadgets stuffed within their pockets.

JULY.

It was Steve’s birthday, which meant Natasha organized a barbecue in Clint’s large backyard. There were red, white, and blue streamers hung up over the trees and over the house’s porch, several star-shaped lanterns decorating the wooden tables set out. Bruce and Tony were manning the grills, while you were playing a game of catch with Peter and Clint’s kids. The rest of the Avengers were gathered by one of the tables, piling up their plates high with food.

The air was heavy with the mouth-watering aroma of cooking hot dogs, grilled corn, and juicy burgers. Dessert was an assortment of cookies, an array of melting popsicles, and a large blue birthday cake that made Steve smile so wide it was yet to leave his face.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Natasha speaking to Thor, her hand extended out to him as the God inspected the ring on her finger.

“A grand ring, that is!” the Norse God bellowed. “Green suits you, Natasha.”

“Thanks, Thor,” said your fiance, grinning warmly. The two walked off to grab some hotdog buns and harass Tony to hurry up with cooking.

The ball nearly hit you in the face because you were so busy staring at Natasha, stopping inches from your nose when Peter darted forward with his near inhumane reaction time to grab it away. 

“Woah!” he exclaimed, afraid to have accidentally hurt you by hurling a fast ball at you when you weren’t even paying attention. “Sorry, are you okay? What are you looking at?” 

You pursed your lips, glancing one last time at Natasha. A blush creeped up your neck. She was going to marry you soon. How on earth did you get so lucky?

“Nothing, kid. Come on, hand me the ball, why’d you stop?” you cleared your throat in a fruitless attempt to play it off.

Peter followed your line of sight, brows raising when he caught sight of Natasha now showing off her ring to Steve and Bucky. He smiled slightly, but didn’t say anything about it, instead tossing the ball right back to you (which you still somehow missed catching).

AUGUST.

“Here,” you said, handing her the steaming mug of coffee, just how she liked it—dark with a tiny bit of sugar. “You okay? You’ve been more quiet than usual the past few days.”

The two of you leaned against the balcony’s railing, watching the sun rise over the cityscape, painting the sky a myriad of soft oranges and clementines and tangerines. With your free hand, the other being occupied by your own hot cup of tea, you wrapped around Natasha’s waist, tugging her close. You pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, brushing an errant strand of hair falling away from her loose braid.

“Sorry, I’ve just recently been thinking,” she whispered, a bit distant. “My sister is out there, somewhere. Sometimes I think it’s best to just give her her space, since she hasn’t reached out, either. Maybe she doesn’t want to see me ever again—after all, I’m a living, breathing reminder of the Red Room. The terrible things we were forced to do. I’m not too upset about it… it’s not like we were a real family, anyway. I don’t know. I guess I just miss her.”

You weren’t entirely sure what to tell her. Go find her sister? Forget about her? Tell her to think about it some more? Natasha rarely ever spoke about her past, much less her temporary ‘fake’ family.

A frown crossed over your lips, brows divoting. “Nat, if your sister really wanted to see you, she would reach out. You’re an Avenger—it’s not that hard to find you. You can’t really say the same about her… you don’t know a single thing about where she might be now. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Natasha sipped on her coffee, blowing out a tired sigh. Tears warbled over her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away, sniffing slightly.

“Do you think she remembers me?” her voice broke just a bit. “Because sometimes I forget what her face looks like. Did she have blue eyes, or were they green like mine? How blonde was her hair? What did her smile look like? I… I’m scared I’ll just completely forget and I won’t ever see her again to—”

“She remembers,” you murmured in response. “You were her sister. She’d remember.”

Another sniffle. Natasha wiped away a stray tear with the back of her hand. 

“God, sorry. I’m such a mess,” she croaked, laughing bitterly.

“And I love you anyway,” you told her, kissing her just below her watery eyes. “Come on—let’s go watch some TV.”

SEPTEMBER.

The wedding was a small, quiet event. 

You, Natasha, and the rest of the Avengers family were once again gathered in Clint’s expansive yard—though, this time, everybody was dressed much more formally than they had on Steve’s birthday. The ceremony was full of tears and sniffling, tissues and running mascara. 

The vows you had written for Nat were long and nearly ramble-y, whilst hers were perfectly short and to-the-point.

Once Bruce had officiated the two of you (having learned how to do so online), you had embraced each other with a watery kiss, grinning against one anothers’ lips. The rest of the group had burst into raucous applause, Tony and Steve the loudest of them all, the two of them being the best men of the wedding.

Then came the food and the dancing, which lasted well into the night.

She was glowing the entire time. Your wife was glowing.

And when you told her so, she smiled, all wide and toothy. “It’s just nervous sweat,” she replied with a laugh as you gripped her waist tighter, before twirling her around in your arms.

“God, I love you,” you murmured, pressing your forehead against hers. 

The green of her eyes sparkled with your words. “I love you, too. I can’t believe we’re married now.”

“Take your time,” you hummed. “You’ve got the rest of your life to get used to it.”

OCTOBER.

Your sleeves were rolled up to your elbows, tongue poking out the corner of your mouth. The table was a mess, covered in orange mush, a dozen knives, and your phone playing a video on how to properly carve a pumpkin.

“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath when you messed up the shape, letting out a long, drawn-out groan. “Why is this so hard? It’s just a pumpkin!”

When you glanced at Natasha and her fruit, you weren’t at all surprised to see that she was well into carving an intricate, detailed design with wide eye-holes and gnarled teeth.

“It’s not that hard,” she replied with an easy smile, clearly amused at your struggling. “What’s going on with you? You’re usually really good with your hands.”

Heat flushed up your neck and spidered across the skin of your cheeks at the hidden insinuation behind her words. “I don’t know,” you huffed, wiping down your hands on the apron you were wearing. Usually you weren’t one to give up so easily, but you had been tinkering with several new task-droids, and there was no better time than now to test them out.

“What are you doing?” she curiously asked once you slid off your seat, reaching into one of the cabinets to pull out the little cuboid robots. “God, it feels like I’m in a Black Mirror episode,” she murmured, watching them come to life and start carving up your pumpkin for you with tiny microblades after you input a design for them to work on.

“San Junipero Black Mirror or Metalhead Black Mirror?” you replied, propping your face up on an elbow as you watched the small bots diligently work. 

Your wife scowled, her sharp brows divoting. “Definitely Metalhead.”

The both of you shuddered, before you dipped forward to press a kiss to her cheek. “I’m gonna make us a batch of cookies—at least that I know I can’t mess up.”

NOVEMBER.

A wince, a frown, an uncomfortable shift. Natasha was used to pain, and was taught from a young age to steel herself, but the wounds usually never got this bad.

There was a deep slash across her stomach, dark blood dousing the entirety of her abdomen, dripping down her sides and leaking off the lab table you had set her on. You tried to be gentle while you cleaned her up, tried to be quick with the stitches to lessen the pain—but the wound was tender and wide, and you had to slow down to be careful.

The entire time, your face bore an expression of pure worry and concern.

“I’m sorry,” she hoarsely whispered, lips twisted into a grimace.

“For what?” you quietly mumbled, focused on fixing her up.

She blew out a pained sigh as you started another stitch. “For making you worry. I shouldn’t have gone on that mission, I know.”

“Well, you did,” you lightly replied, teeth gnashing together. “No reason to dwell on it. It’s okay, Nat. I’m not mad at you.”

There was a beat of silence. She laid back, fists clenched by her sides as she endured through the pain.

“Just disappointed?” she asked, gingerly laughing, despite the pain it brought to her chest.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I am. I just don’t like seeing you pointlessly throwing yourself headfirst into a suicidal mission, just to come crawling back in shreds. I also don’t like seeing you hurt because I love you, and I need you to be more careful for me.”

Natasha pursed her lips. Her green eyes flashed with pain when you wiped away the excess blood. “Okay,” your wife croaked. “I love you, too.”

DECEMBER.

“Open it!” you goaded, nudging Natasha to the suspiciously unwrapped box. 

Her green eyes were narrowed as she shot you a warning look. “I swear to God, if a fake snake is gonna come flying out like last time—”

“It’s your birthday, I would never!” you interrupted impatiently, gesturing to the box once more.

With a huff, Natasha peeled back the loose lids of the cardboard box, making a noise of surprise upon seeing a little black cat curled up inside, snoozing contentedly. 

“Oh, my God. You got us a little kitty,” she crooned, slowly picking the cat up. The black-pelted feline purred at the contact, nuzzling her dark nose against Natasha’s face. “This is literally the best thing you’ve ever gotten me. It beats anything you’ve ever made for me!”

Clearing your throat, you toyed with the collapsible motorcycle you had hidden in your pocket. “Well… don’t say that too quickly. You wanna name her?”

Natasha stroked the cat’s dark head, her hazel eyes happily blinking shut. “Liho. It means misfortune in Russian—black cats are bad luck, right? She’ll have to prove her name wrong.”

“Liho,” you parroted, smiling so wide it was a wonder your face didn’t split into two. 

With a grin, Natasha placed Liho back down on the ground, who took to weaving between both of your legs, her fluffy tail curved around your shins. 

“God, I love you,” your wife suddenly announced, cupping your face between her palms and littering several chaste kisses all over your cheeks. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“You’re gonna love me more after this,” you told her, brandishing the small black cuboid from your pocket. “Come on—I’m gonna have to show you this outside. Let’s go, Liho.”

The three of you made your way out of the house, Liho silently following along like a shadow. You beamed brightly at the small cat, then at your wife, who was squinting against the sharp sunlight, smiling nonetheless. It was all so perfect, nearly too good to be true.

Until the collapsible motorcycle burst into flames while you were trying to uncollapse it, which had Natasha yanking the curious Liho away from the growing fire as you ran into the house to grab the extinguisher.

Alright—maybe not entirely perfect… but amazing nonetheless. 

“Happy birthday?” you sheepishly said as you doused the flames away. “That was, uh… that was supposed to do that.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, setting Liho back down before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You can clean that up later. Let’s go cut the cake—maybe we can skip on blowing out the candles this year.”

As the three of you made your way back inside the house, Natasha glanced down at the little black cat trotting in front of you. “She’s living up to her name so far. God, I can’t believe you got me a cursed cat for my birthday.”

[achromant]

AND HERE WE ARE! My project for the gw2 'zine!

Featuring Baruhn, reflecting on his life so far, the challenges, the small sparks of joy, the horrors, loss and gain.

For clarification's sake; I did in fact plan to depict every stage of Baruhn's life, but uuh. File was already too big.

Might do a series of short comics (graphic novels?) though, because i fking love storytelling.

Let's look at my idiotic level of detail a bit, eh?

[Long Text Ahead]

Baruhn's story begins in the Plains of Ashford. An unsuccessful attempt to stem the tide of Ascalonian Ghosts leads to the demise of many year-long allies. Dozens of brave soldiers gave their life for a mere week of peace until the ghosts reformed. They always do. Soldiers don't.

Shaken in his faith in the Legions, the first seeds of doubt arise.

Until finally he found someone to trust with his pain. In a tavern at the edge of the Black Citadel, he gets to know this odd fellow, who is continuosly follow by the faint smell of sulfur. Although Baruhn knew where that path led, the warmth radiating from the old veteran in front of him was not only a physical, but an emotional one.

With the Three Legions busy with their internal quarrels, fighting over an empty promise, Baruhn took the first steps down a previously thought to be dark path.

Surprisingly, die Flame Legion was welcoming, their fires offered light and guidance, the embers igniting the skies like stars. Surely this was better than the cold metal over the Black Citadel.

Baruhn took to learning first, handling the small flames with ease after years of throwing fireballs at ghostly shapes. Then, he figured out how to teach, and that is where the real magic comes from. Nurturing a flame, protecting it from harsh winds, adding a bit of kindling and coal here and there. He even taught the more elusive ways of magic that wield smoke and ash.

Baruhn knew about the war, the countless lifes lost on the other side of the fence. But those were humans, and here he was among family.

That is, until he met Molly.

After a small recon mission that was assured not to be much of a hurdle, Baruhn found himself alone in a forest. The small fires he conjured for light and warmth only drew in the nearby villagers. Those with pitchforks and torches, with crude swords and a thirst for blood. He couldn't really bring himself to hate them, this was war after all. But at what cost are these battles to be won?

Trying to escape the villagers was a futile attempt. He sank to the ground, his own hot blood dousing the little flames beneath his weary head.

For some reason - maybe hope, maybe resignation - he forced open his heavy eyes, only to discover his wounds cleaned and bandaged with fragile white cloth. A small human girl, of all things in this damned forest, tried to help. Even in his weakened state, even with just one hand, Baruhn could have easily grabbed her and cracked her skull. But the only thing he did was listen. He listened to the ramblings of the small human, going on and on about faries made of leaves and gnomes of stone. She called him "bear".

When the villagers came, they saw the girl at his side. That was all it took for them to turn on her. She was to be executed like that beast that now slowly stepped in front of her. For the first time, Baruhn spoke to the girl. "close your eyes."

Fire roared, not red, not orange. not a warm, welcoming fire. Not one that belongs in a hearth, that thrives in the arms of a family. This was so much worse. This was years of inner conflict, of doubt, of closing his eyes on the other side of the fence. For the first time in his life, this was the only thing that he wanted to do, protect the little insignificant human behind him. Fire roared, and it burned wood and it burned flesh.

Baruhn picked up the little girl, she held tight to his horns, nestled in his mane. He ran for hours, years of military training finally useful. The little girl, Molly, lost her mother years ago. She burned in the fires of a war she tried to escape. "And your father? What about your family?", he asked between deep breaths. Molly was quiet for a while, then whispered, her voice barely audible, "My father burned today."

They stayed together, for quite a while. He protected her, and she, with her head full of stories, and a book full of dreams, protected him.

Things came, things went. Baruhn rejoined the High Legions, acting as a spy for Ash, keeping an eye on Iron and Blood.

Baruhn ultimately took on his role as Novice, then Archivist, then Commander. He helped during the struggles against Scarlet. A small flame here and there, some shrouding smoke, a well timed lightning strike. It was other people that finally defeated Scarlet, but he was always in the background, with all the small things at just the right time.

Mordremoth came, but with him new allies.

It was but a small tangent in the grand scheme of things. Watching the fragile sapling while waging war on the jungle itself.

Their relation was something more than friendship, something else than love. They were there for each other when they needed to be. Be it only to keep a flame burning or to banish the voices to the back of the head again, they walked the same path for a long time.

Tarir, the Egg. Aurene. A new flame entrusted to him, his to nurture, his to raise. A gamble, again. What if that little flame would some day devour the world? But Baruhn did, what he could do best. Teach.

Darker times came. Caudecus and the White Mantle. The raid on the Mursaat's prison. Then facing the last Mursaat himself.

Balthazar came, and in his wake a new kind of fire. A war, similar to the ones Baruhn had seen before, but still different. A war without a cause, war for war's sake. War against nature, against the world, like a child lashing out when there were none to help them up. Maybe Balthazar's flames were not too different from his.

After the festering swamp that Joko was, came the mountain, Kralkatorrik. Death was not a hindrance anymore, not for the Commander and his dragon. The story went as the story goes.

When it came to face the frost, the whispers, Jormag. Everything fell apart. Jormag pried into the deepest, darkest corners of Baruhn's life, dragged every doubt, small as it may have been, into the light. In the ice, every truth was warped, encased in whispers, in lies. It suffocated any hope and planted even darker seeds than anyone thought possible.

It was the spirit of the Raven that aided Baruhn. Even the black feathers of its wings were shimmering like rainbows in the moonlight.

A small piece stayed with him, just a fragment. Nevermore.

After that, the stars themselves. Astralaria.

So many stories that make a life, so many pieces. Every encounter, every step along the way is another fragment of the whole. People are made of other people, that is what it means to be alive.

[sylacris]

— “say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime.”

alternatively: “save me, lead me from my solitude.” / i finally release the draft that’s been catching cobwebs in my docs since june 2023

phantom of the opera! dazai osamu x gn! reader

cws: possibly ooc, self indulgent.

wc: 1.0k

Track down the murderer! Do not let that animal escape!" The mob screams in rage, a fury directed at the one and only culprit of the chaos in the opera house.

They’ve had enough of this- this phantom. His demands, his actions, and how he acts like he's a being above them—the mob rallies above ground with torches and pitchforks, fueled by absolute despise for such a being.

"Too long has his reign of darkness terrorized this opera!" Shouts of agreement ring in the half-destroyed theater house, debris and glass littered across every surface of the floor, faint smoke wafting in the air as the mob charges underground.

"The phantom resides deep below! This monster cannot be left alive anymore!"

The echoes reverberate in the underground chambers; they are faint and barely audible, but you knew they were looking for him. Yet here he was, holding you like a vice in his arms, and yet his touch is soft, even warm. An arm circled around your waist while the other held your hand, faintly caressing your knuckles as if attempting to soothe you.

He leaned closer to your body, a slight weight piling on your back, burying his face in the crook of your neck, a sigh escaping his lips, his breath tickling your skin. You could only attempt to look at him through your peripherals, his tousled brown hair being the first thing you set your sights on.

The hand that held yours snakes upwards; he places both yours and his hand where your heart is. "May you sing for me, my angel?" he requests, and if you listened closely enough, it was as if he was begging, a tone you’ve only heard from him in jest, or perhaps in your unwaking nights.

"Osamu…" You voiced it out, the response to his words seemingly out of your reach.

He tilts his head. Dazai is not one to plead, however. "Please? For me?" He smiles softly. The traces of ‘the phantom’, the chaos incarnate that runs rampant along the crevices of the opera house, are no longer there; instead, it's the face of a man whose devotion to you—and only you—surpassed that of a thousand men in many lifetimes.

If that viscount could make you royalty, Dazai could make you an angel, he’d burn everything to ashes, meet death, and come back just for you. He’d repent, like the demon that he is, just to see you eye-to-eye, just to be able to hold you in his arms and call you his.

You knew he would do anything for you, and perhaps that was what instilled an odd fondness for such a man. His eyes reflected such solitude, an unwarranted loneliness befitting a shunned child.

Yet in those same eyes lies adoration, his piercing gaze thrilling your soul.

Adhering to his request, you gently hum a tune, one that he wrote for you to sing to. His gaze is fixated on you, a satisfied smile finding a place on his lips. His expression is akin to a child being given candy; you could almost excuse all his crimes with such a look.

Almost.

The arms wrapped around you let go, freeing you of his weight. You continued to vocalize as Dazai grabbed your hand in his and placed his other hand on your waist. Slow steps gradually turned into a waltz led by him.

“Come, embrace the darkness.” He softly sang to your tune, “Forget those earthly fears.”

"I'm here to keep you, to hide you,” he whispers. “Through music, I beguile you.”

He seems to be enjoying himself as you match his tune, with the final duet between a demon and his beloved angel taking turns. A duet only for the two of you to perform and to witness.

“Who appears to me—a friend or phantom?”

The hand on his waist moves to cup his cheek lightly; you could only guess that such an act surprised him as his eyes widened from your touch before leaning into it, savoring your touch.

"Who twines music for my soul to sing?"

A fond smile appears on your face, one that he wouldn't dare miss under the candlelit glow of his chambers.

"Show yourself to me, distorted angel."

“Do you fear the light as I fear for you? "You tilt your head as his eyes trail away from you.

"Are you afraid I'll leave you too?"

The hold on your waist falters ever so slightly as he lifts your hand, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. His melancholy so obvious, with a downcast air to him, yet he still manages to smile, that smile still persists; it’s almost disheartening how controlled he is. almost.

“I promise I'll keep you safe; let your fears be no more, my angel.” His honeyed tone tempted you with a promise, one of pure, unadulterated love, just for you.

“Let me be your freedom, your place of solace, a hideaway from the world above. Let us run away together, my angel.”

Dazai tilts your chin up, meeting his gaze—a look filled with hesitation as his eyes drop to your lips.

Yet the moment was fleeting, for the mob seemed to have come closer. Distant shouting, an angry cacophony. Who knows what they’ll do to you and to him once they reach these chambers?

(Kill. They’ll kill him.)

“Do you love me? "You whispered under your breath.

“What kind of question is that? "He raises an eyebrow, as if he has time to tease in this situation. With wholehearted assurance, he replies,

"You know I do."

He leans in to leave a small peck on your forehead, restrained even until now, when everything is high-stakes, yet that kiss alone seems to say everything you needed to know, yet at the same time, everything you already knew.

He hesitates at first before letting go of you. Walking to one of the draperies in the chambers, his hand grasps it before putting it to the side, revealing to you a secret exit. Of course. Of course, he of all people would have an exit strategy.

The downcast gleam in his eyes seems to disappear for just this once, as he’s back to that loveable, cat-like grin. With his other hand, he extends it to you as a final confirmation, a decision that you cannot undo once made.

And just this once, you’ve never been so sure of anything else.

[mezzy-1]

VALORANT MEETING + DATE HEADCANONS

Hope you enjoy!

SOVA 

He was finishing recon in a snowy forest late at night and was done for the day.  He outstretched his arm and sent out the Owl Drone

So far, you had been hiking for about 8 hours through frigid woods and gotten lost about 2 hours earlier.  You were trying to make camp for the night but failing to start a fire

You caught a glimpse of Sova’s drone and followed it back to the man, who immediately regarded you with some suspicion but could see you were of his dimension 

Deciding to keep an eye on you, he led you back to his campsite and helped you set up your tent next to his

He was kind, and he quietly offered you a seat next to him by the fire.  Both of you sat awkwardly at first, not quite sure how to handle the silence

“Do you do archery out here?  I noticed the bow and wanted to ask…” you trailed off as he looked at you 

He removed the bow and two arrows from his sling.  “Would you like a look at them?”  You moved closer and inspected them.  The technology was intricate but your eyes wandered over to the man sitting close to you

“What brings you out here?”

“I wanted to do the Blue Lakes trail but I got lost a while back.  I was planning on stargazing at the top but…” you gestured to your compass, “I got lost”

“I leave here tomorrow, and I can show you to the trail if you would like.”  Sova offered

You accepted his offer and both of you went to your tents for the night

Humiliatingly, the trail back was marked but Sova didn’t seem to care that you got lost so easily.  The two of you just chatted about the surroundings while traveling onward

At the trailhead, you had to part ways.  But it didn’t have to be the end, and you made a fast decision and asked to see him again

“I’d love to!  What did you have in mind?”

Sova Date

At the trailhead, you finished tying your boots before a familiar voice called out

“Hello y/n!  Should we start walking?”  Sova had dressed in pants and a blue flannel jacket

Both of you continued up to a clearing in the forest, just as the sun was begging to set

You laid out a large blanket from your pack and set it down.  Sova took out a pair of bags and bottles of water

You hadn’t expected him to bring home cooked food, but you weren’t complaining either

Sova and you made yourselves comfortable, and ate while you waited for the evening to turn to night

Conversing with him was always peaceful.  He listened deeply and always responded with optimism or curiosity

The North Star was the first to appear, followed by a few faint constellations

Within an hour, the sky was overrun with stars.  Each point of light layered on another creating a portrait of the galaxy

Sova and you took turns pointing out constellations, each time trying to remember what each star was named 

Both of you relied on the book of astronomy you brought along to figure out what was in the sky

Sova had an understanding of stars to navigate, and would name stars in Russian or translate what he could

Although you and him were occupied with stargazing, you started to succumb to the cold of the night

“Y/N, are you cold?”

“No, it’s nothing you need to-”

Sova took his jacket off and place it on you.  The lining inside was warm from Sova’s body heat

“Are you still cold?  Come here, and stay close to me.”  Sova gestured for you to join his side

For the rest of the night, you and him stayed in almost constant contact until you both decided to head back

You followed behind Sova, his sense of direction and torch lit the way.  Despite being deep in the wilderness, you felt safe in his presence

When you arrived at the trailhead, Sova said his goodbyes.  He made sure you would arrive home safely before leaving.  His jacket was still on you

“Sova, you forgot this.” you held his jacket out to him.  

“Keep it Y/N, I want you to have it for the next outing.  I hope it brings you much warmth and comfort while I am away.”

“Here’s something to remind you of me.” you gave Sova a kiss

He was a blushing mess, and held you close before departing back to the Valorant HQ

While you traveled back to your home, you ran your fingers over the soft material of Sova’s jacket.  It smelled faintly of him

DEADLOCK

You were in LA when the Landfall facility erupted and you were caught in the crossfire of Omega and Alpha variants.  A single Shock Arrow went off course and hit you with enough voltage to knock you out

Once you came to, Deadlock had finished performing CPR on you, including mouth to mouth. 

When you came to, your face was covered in blonde locks of hair, gazing into eyes with intense blue irises, and her body pressed against yours

Iselin was red in the face, and so were you.  Perhaps for the same reason…

Other agents were finishing off the Omega team, Iselin didn’t really have anything else to worry about other than stabilizing you

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked, hoping to establish if you were coherent

You replied perfectly, and set her at ease.  Then you had an idea, and asked for her name

“Deadlo- Iselin, my name is Iselin” she responded

Because you managed to get at least a name, you pressed your luck and asked more about her

“That will have to wait, we’re taking you a hospital to make sure you weren’t injured in any other way”

Sage gave you a check up and confirmed you were fine, then hooked up a heart monitor before leaving to inspect other agents

Iselin walked over to see how you were doing, then sat next to your cot.  It was another chance to get to see her and you tried to converse politely with her

As you chatted she kept looking over your shoulder to something, all while still remaining invested in your conversation

“Do I make you nervous?” She asked softly

“What!  No!  Why would you think that?” you quickly answered back

“It’s just that the monitor says you have an elevated heart rate.”

Looking behind you, the screen did show you that weren’t as relaxed 

“Oh!” you exclaimed, “It’s just that, I find you kind of… attractive”

The machine was beeping rapidly now, but not detracting from the silence that swallowed the moment between you and Iselin.  She spoke first

“Would you like to spend some time together then?”  she was blushing as much as you 

As you walked out of the clinic, you made plans to see her again

Deadlock Date

You and Iselin decided to meet at a Valorant safehouse that Cypher had once used.  He promised he removed all the cameras

She had prepared some ingredients for dinner you could cook together.  Cooking was something she did with her old team

Because you were in LA still, she managed to find fresh salmon at a market and decided to cook it

She gutted it in front of you, and taught you how to debone, clean and prepare the fish.  Her skill with the knife was amazing, if not intimidating

You asked a for some help and she took your hand, showing you the right way to cut

The rest of the preparation was easier, requiring less input.  It was during this that you talked to Iselin 

For her, it was refreshing to find someone who didn’t know about her past, the trauma she’d endured, and could let in gradually

You came to understand that she was ex-military but nothing official.  Her main expertise was in tracking and scouting, which you decided to test

You’d ask about urban legends or survival stories and she’d debunk them or let in on a fact about hunting

The incredulous reactions you had managed to coax a smile out of her

As dinner began, you both started sharing more personal stories and began to get more well-acquainted with the other’s background

Iselin bristled when you asked why she was with Valorant, and she decided to say as much as she could stomach

“I had something happen to me and they were there for me.”  Her eyes darted to her prosthetic arm

There was a moment of silence, tension rose 

“I’m glad they were there for you, if they weren’t I don’t think I would have met you.” 

The words touched Iselin deeply, and she could only utter out a phrase

“Tusen takk.” she smiled up at you 

As you finished your dinner you both had easier conversations about personal tastes.  It was here you found that Iselin enjoyed hiking 

“Would you like to go hiking with me?” you asked tentatively

Iselin’s face lit up and she quickly responded with “Ja takk!”

Sadly she had to leave soon and you both exited the safehouse.  Iselin turned to you as you closed the door 

“Y/N, thank you.  It hasn’t been easy to let people get close but you’ve helped me relax a bit.  I won’t forget you y/n.” 

You got the sense Iselin was signaling something, and you leaned in.  She kissed you and held you close, then cautiously let go

She left you the same way she found you: breathless

ISO 

Your day at work had come to an end, and you stepped off of your bus preparing to walk the rest of the way home

Iso’s had already began, as he was chasing down a member of his past corporation.  He had finished off their friends, now it was time to end them

His target had managed to jump out of the window to avoid capture, but Iso didn’t let up even as their chase took them onto the street

A small commotion occurred as Iso’s prey shoved you to put distance between his assassin 

As they ran past you, one of Iso’s headphones fell out 

Right in front of you as he ran into an alley from your sight

What else were you to do?  Of course you had to return it to him (not because you wanted to get a better look at him)

You began to head towards the alley to see if you could catch Iso in time.  Meanwhile Iso put his abilities into practice

Iso’s target fell right into the Kill Contract, and the assassin stepped into the space disappearing into the Interverse

Of course you didn’t see anything, just a few strange purple particles floating through the air nearby

By the time he stepped out of his Kill Contract he ran right into you and you both fell over

Iso was bewildered and worried a civilian had discovered his secret  

He and you caught a glimpse of each other and stopped struggling

Sheepishly, you handed him back his headphone and he took it back while being careful to hide the pistol he had in his coat

After helping you to your feet, you asked him what he was listening to and his reply of 99 God was a welcome surprise

“Wait, do you like his music too?” you asked

“Of course, I’ve been to some of his shows too.  I have playlists full of him.” 

You just happened to have 2 tickets to a concert of his, and seizing on the opportunity you asked if he would be interested

It was a yes

Iso Date

At the concert, you met Iso at the front before walking in together.  The ticket staff asked if you were a couple while scanning your passes

Iso blushed immediately and you felt your soul vacate your body

“Ye- maybe?”  “Well it wouldn’t be that, b-” “Uh I think so?”

You both hurried in to the concert and got over the shock

“That was kind of awkward right?  Who even asks that kind of question?”  Iso broke the tension

“I don’t understand people sometimes.” you replied

Eventually that faded into background as the music started, it was a something else to focus on

You and Iso joined the crowd in excitement, dancing and singing to the music that leapt from the speakers

The opening set was absolutely worth the ticket cost

“THIS IS AMAZING!” you cried out.  Iso agreed emphatically

Lost in the moment, you watched Iso feeling the rhythm as purple lights from a nearby projector shown on the crowd

You gazed at him in awe as violet lasers ran over both of your faces, he stared back with equal entrancement

Deciding to embrace the moment, you both stole a quick kiss when smoke machines shrouded the crowd and the show ended

On your way out, Iso and you both talked about your favorite songs, the performance, and the special effects

“This was a great night y/n, we should do something like this again.”

Barely holding back your excitement, you kissed him again before heading home

Iso walked back home listening to a track titled “Songs for Y/N”  

Being a hitman was a lonely job, and even since he had joined Valorant he still lacked closeness.  Luckily, he had found you

GEKKO 

Thrash had gotten away from him while he was out running a few errands, and he was worrying at this point

He heard the sound of the creature knocking over cans and moving around the isles.  He dashed over to see her pouncing from a shelf into a cart

Your cart

She didn’t revert to a globule, but instead curled up into the cart along with your groceries.  Gekko was beyond panicked at this point

You cautiously reached down and tapped on the critter, and when it nuzzled your hand you started to pet it

Gekko was astounded by Thrash getting along with someone, and stood there in awe as you picked her up and continued to scratch her belly

You noticed him staring at you with his jaw hanging open

“Uh, is this yours?” you asked while handing Thrash over to him.  She flew into Gekko’s satchel excitedly

“Uh, yeah, thanks for catching her.  I never see her get along with other people so it’s kind of weird to see her like this.  The rest of my crew is a lot more chill.” 

“The rest of your crew?” you asked.  Gekko realized he said too much at that point

“Well I’m not supposed to talk about it but…a no la importa ahorita.”  he summoned Wingman and placed him in your hands

You saw your chance and took it

“I’d love to get to them and you too if you wanted to do something some time.”

Gekko went red, then smiled 

“Meet me tomorrow evening at the Kingdom train depot, past the security fence.”

It was a date, one you were eager for but slightly worried about

Gekko Date

Following Gekko’s instructions was easy enough, getting into the trainyard was easy but the fear of being caught was palpable

It was kind of a rush though, sneaking by all of the cameras and guards.  You knelt down behind some crates and let out a sigh

A finger tapped on your shoulder and you twisted around in fear

“Oye, calma!” Gekko whispered.  “It’s me, you can chill.”  He smiled at you and gestured to a bag you carried

It was filled with spray paints of different colors rattled around inside.  Gekko walked you over to a train car he had already covered in stencils

He grabbed 2 cans gleefully and shook them together.  He tossed the other to you and grinned.  “Lista?  Let’s do this.”

You both got to work, assisted by Wingman to keep watch and hand paint cans.  Deep blues and electric greens covered the car at first, followed by pastel violets.  

Cans of paint traded hands, fingers brushing near but never touching.  Until Gekko looked up at the top stencil and had an idea

He hoisted you up on his shoulders and had you paint it.  Wobbling back and forth, you sprayed the last parts of the design before he cautiously let you down

“Ok, I want you to close your eyes alright?” Gekko pleaded. “Wait up, okay 3. 2. 1”

Your eyes opened and saw the beauty you and him created together

It was a scene of a jungle at night, navy blue foliage covering up most of it while neon green fireflies dotted the mural.  In the middle was a prowling jaguar with a cub between its front legs

“It’s beautiful…” you whispered

“you are too” whispered Gekko.  Wingman abruptly pushed you both together and you met each other’s gaze

Both of you kissed each other quickly before blushing and quickly breaking down into embarrassed apologies

“You, I.  We should, do this more right?”

“Yeah, por supuesto”

Wingman lived up to his name that night

CHAMBER 

You’d met at after a charity dinner hosted by Kingdom, and it was the most boring thing you’d ever attended

It was a show of corporate goodwill but mainly to placate the public.  The only reason you showed up is because the donations went straight to your city

Plus free wine, which you had taken and were drinking on a balcony that gave you some space from everyone else

“Fait froid non?”

You turned to see a tall man dressed in a fine suit and prismatic tie, his hand extended in greeting

“Vincent Fabron, enchante”

He took your hand, refraining from kissing it and instead shooting you a flirtatious grin

He made small talk with you about the event, and brought up that he had been with Kingdom as a guest.  Both of you started talking about each other's lives

Fabron asked if you had a partner

You blushed a bit and replied “no,” to which he responded “Tres bien, then would you be free for dinner sometime this week?”

You were taken aback by how forward he was, but then again he was a gentleman and quite handsome

A digital chime broke the silence and Fabron checked his wristwatch.  An alert was going off, accompanied by some V-shaped sign

“I look forward to meeting you once more,” he gestured to his watch, “but I am afraid I have some responsibilities to tend to.  Au revoir”

He waved at you as he went back inside and disappeared

In your hands was the card, which had the address of a high end restaurant and a time written on it.  The other side was the business card of Vincent ‘Chamber’ Fabron

Chamber Date

Dressed in your finest clothing, you waited outside of the restaurant building but were unsure where Chamber was

You pulled out the card to see if you had made a mistake and noticed a colorful glow coming from it

In a flash of radiant energy you were teleported, right into a private room with Vincent waiting

“Bonne nuit, I hope the teleportation was comfortable.  Let me get your seat.”  

Vincent had finished lighting candles, setting plates, and took your coat before seating you across from him

You sat down to a prepared dinner of salad, coq au vin, and fresh bread

Vincent pressed something on his watch, then teleported a bottle of red wine to his hand and opened it.  He poured your glass and sat down as he poured his own 

He began asking more about your life, interests, and even a few intimate questions

You naturally responded with your own questions, learning about his time at Kingdom and even a little about his time with Valorant

He asked about your life some more, not forgetting any of the details you told him the first time you met

By the time you both had finished the wine, it felt as if you knew the other as lifelong partners.  Vincent was listening to you explain something, but you became nervous

“Am I boring you?  I didn’t mean to-”

“I assure you, nothing you do could ever be boring.  There’s nobody more invested in you than me, Y/N.”

You were taken aback, and felt a spark of something.  On an impulse you leaned in 

Chambers' lips met yours and both of you kissed, he had found a private room so the moment you both shared was only yours to know

When you finished, Vincent sat back confidently with a somewhat knowing, if not smug, look on his face

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that all night” 

FADE 

Istanbul is a lively city, so the few places that offered a bit of peace were an oasis.  One such oasis was a bookstore in Kadikoy

You had paged through books but hadn’t really found anything that piqued your interest yet.  The saturation of supernatural romances and dystopian teen novels wasn’t helping

A woman with dark hair was also reading through another book, but unlike you was invested.  She sat at a table with a glass of warm tea

Her hands obscured the title, but you wanted to know if it was worth reading

Not like you had other reasons

“Uhh hi, what are you reading?”

You came face to face with mismatched eyes and a curious stare

“Dune,” she moved her hand to let you see the cover, “I’ve had it recommended to me by friends.  It’s quite good.”

You instinctively replied, “I know right, especially when Paul-” you cut yourself off before spoiling the book

Fade wasn’t normally in a mood to talk with strangers, but something about you was different to her

Normally she could feel fear emanate from people near her, however she didn’t get any sense you held fear

Of course this intrigued her

“Do you come to this store often?  I come here often but I haven’t seen you here before.”

You told her you were visiting for the first time but often went to another store that closed

“So you read often, what genre is your favorite?” she had set down her book

“I prefer science fiction, but I’ll read anything with good characters.” you replied. “What do you prefer?”

“The same, although I’ll read anything when I have the chance.” she took a sip from her glass

Just as she finished, one of Istanbul’s many cats entered the store.  A calico covered in large orange spots and one giant black spot across its back

It came up to you and began rubbing against your legs.  Then it came over to Fade and did the same

“She seems to like you,” you mentioned before Fade took the calico and fed it something from her bag.  She held it in her lap as it chewed on whatever it was eating

“Come, she is friendly.”  Fade invited you next to her.  Obliging, you sat down and started petting the cat

“What is your name?”

“Hazal”

“And you are?”

“Y/N,” you took your chance, “Would you want to get khave some time and talk a bit more?”

“Evet, that sounds lovely”

Fade Date

The neighborhood of Moda provided the perfect place to reacquaint yourself with Hazal

Naturally as you were on your way over, Hazal found you first.  The woman is a bounty hunter after all

“Merhaba!” Hazal surprised you and led you into a small cafe.  There were only a few other customers, leaving you and her mostly alone

She ordered khave, and you ordered the same.  The Turkish coffee brought to you was the first you ever had

It was like drinking coffee grounds and pure caffeine in a cup.  It was an acquired taste but very easy to acquire

Hazal and you talked about books you had read recently.  You compared some of the adaptations you both saw in theaters, agreeing mostly that the books were better

The conversation moved to life, and you asked about what Hazal did.  She mentioned that she did ‘private investigation’ but now works with a private security organization

It was a secretive topic, but you were fine with her answer.  It was more important to focus on the future

“Y/N, have you ever had your fortune read?” Hazal asked

“Not really, do you know how to tell the future?” you replied, you were curious at this point

Hazal pointed to your empty cup

You passed it over to her and she looked it over.  She searched it over and then set it in the middle of the table

“I see in your future…a deep unrest and sudden death.”  She turned up to you with a dire look in her eyes

“I’m going to die?” you asked.  Hazal’s facade broke and she laughed a bit

“Hayir, relax, it is only a joke.  In fact you’ll like the reading better now.”

You calmed a bit, and laughed a bit at how she managed to mess with you

“It seems like you’re going to go through some change, brought on by things beyond your control.”  she paused to look over the coffee cup, “But something will bring you great solace during this.”

“I wish I knew what that something was.  Do you see anything else about it?” you asked  

“Well I have one theory,” Hazal pointed to herself, “It could be someone, not something.”

You decided to flirt a bit more, “And who could that be?” 

“Someone close, someone mysterious maybe?  They could even be right here.”

“I’d bet they’d even go for a kiss if given the chance,” you caught Hazal leaning in as you said it

You shared a kiss with her, the first of many 

VIPER

She rarely ventured outside of her lab and between running Valorant and missions, she had to keep her time off brief and tended to try keep a low profile

Her time outside of the HQ was generally spent visiting parts of the world and visiting art museums

Viper had a particular love of the arts, and museums were often silent so there was little interference from other people 

Except for you

She was observing Goya’s Black Paintings, specifically Saturn Devouring His Son.  It’s savagery was overwhelming and therefore intrigued her

You sat down on a bench to observe it as well, and maybe the other person in here with you.  The grotesque painting was enthralling, if not disturbing to think about

Then she sat down next to you, and you tried to keep your eyes on the painting.  It was impossible not to dart your eyes over to her

“Why do you keep looking at me?” Viper spoke in a bitter tone

Thinking as fast as you could you explained that you weren’t looking at her per say, rather just the…painting behind her.  You were looking over at Duelo a Garrotazos

She raised an eyebrow and sighed, “That’s an awful lie.”

To prove your innocence you went into detail about what you knew about the painting:  History, interpretation, value, and origin.  

Sabine’s suspicion turned to interest

“You know art quite well, is it a passion of yours or a profession?”

“Just a passion, and I wasn’t trying to stare at you.”

“I’m not as concerned with that anymore, what I am curious about is what brings you here.”

“Just wanted to look at the collection.  By the way, I never got your name.”

“Sabine, and yours is?”

“Y/N”

“Have you ever painted before Y/N?  Or are you mostly a critic?”  Sabine’s intense green eyes studied your reaction

“Only a little bit, but I enjoy it when I have the chance.”

“Would you be interested in joining me at a studio sometime this week?  I rented a space.”

Caught off guard, you quickly asked if she was trying to ask you out.  She was less interrogative now, and being genuine in her offer

“I would love to.” you answered. 

An alert from Sabine’s phone broke the moment.  Her face contorted into exasperation, and she quickly texted something back.

“It appears I have something to attend to Y/N.  We should discuss this later.”

Sabine handed you a page from a pocket book with her number, and after she took one last look at the gallery, left the museum

As she left, you heard her mutter something about her lab and ‘Phoenix,’ whatever that meant

Her leaving was a bit abrupt, but you would be seeing her again and you could hardly wait

Viper Date

Viper didn’t tell anyone about your date except for Brimstone

In her space she had assembled what she could for a still life: a few beakers and a collection of poisonous flowers like Oleandar, Belladonna, and Hemlock

Her arrangement was of flowers sticking out of scientific glasses.  It wasn’t the most ornate but it did offer plenty to paint

Knocking several times, you waited outside for Sabine to let you in.  She greeted you with a softer tone than at the museum

You began assembling your palette with Sabine.  You went for realistic colors, she went for darker variants

Each of you took a couple of brushes, dipped them in a glob of paint, and began your still-lifes

As you painted, you started discussing what each of you did for work, then chatted about art and world events

Both of you blamed Kingdom for much of the world’s current issues, and Sabine shared stories from when she worked for them 

Some of them were definitely a little worrying, considering she had not only slightly poisoned coworkers but avoided being fired in doing so

Her understanding of chemistry was incredible to listen too, she had a clear passion for it

“Why do you like working with poison so much?”

“I’m good at it, there’s not much more to it,” she paused, assessing her answer, 

“But I guess I enjoy what they mean to us.  We fear them because we don’t understand them, but once we do they control life and death.  I like that, the power they give to those willing to take it.”

“So you think of what you do as a way to help people, but using something that people don’t trust.”

“I suppose so.”

“Do you ever feel alone then?”  Sabine paused mid brushstroke, “It must be difficult having interests people are afraid of.”

“It can be Y/N, but I’ve found it isn’t as bad anymore.  Poisons have their place in my life, people are earning theirs.”  She went back to her palette

You added in more pastels to make the flowers stand out against the background

Once you were done, you shared the results with one another.  Yours was more bright, and had heavier detail.  Sabine’s was more abstract, focusing on brush strokes and tone

At the end, you both exchanged the paintings as a parting gift

Sabine cautiously asked if you would like to have dinner some time.  She picked at one of her nails waiting for a response

“Of course!” you replied.  Then leaned in and gave a Sabine a quick peck on the cheek

She could hardly get a word out

You and her left the studio planning on dinner and more art nights in the future.  You had settled on portraits next

Sabine later thought about asking you pose nude for a portrait but dismissed the thought

CYPHER

Normally, you tried to stay away from explosions, gunfire, and energy blasts.  While slipping away you were caught in a leftover trip wire you didn’t see

The wire had tangled your legs, and forced you on the ground 

You were frantically struggling against the wires when you heard footsteps 

“Well, well, it appears a fly has gotten caught in my web.  Let’s see who it is.” a voice coldly whispered 

A man in a white coat and hat stepped from behind the corner with a gun drawn.  His eyes were hidden by a dark mask, mechanical blue eyes took their place.  Unfeeling

At least until he saw you.  Despite the mask you saw the shock take hold immediately

“Oh, apologies,” he reached his hand out and retrieved the wire, “I wasn’t expecting others to get caught”

The initial fear you had turned to confusion

“Who are you?” you asked

“I prefer people I don’t know to call me Cypher.  Allow me to lead you out of here.”

His offer seemed genuine and you didn’t have any other choice but to follow him into a hidden room where he sat you down

“I didn’t mean to catch you, I hope it was not uncomfortable.”  he sounded regretful, and seemed to truly care about you

“Here,” he handed you your phone, “you dropped this while you were struggling.”

As you checked your phone over, you noticed the screen was glitching out.  It was randomly receiving and exporting data

Your savior/captor was entering something into a desktop set up in the room.  He was typing up something while you scrutinized your phone

Cypher turned back to you, and you caught a glance of a computer screen.  It read: SECURED DATA

“So, Y/N.  What brought you out here?  I know you aren’t a threat, but I’m still going to make sure you don’t reveal anything to someone else.”

“How did you know my name?” Cypher pointed at your glitching phone.  “You hacked my phone?”

“No, I bugged it.  Check the back, I planted it there when I handed it to you.  I wanted to make sure you weren’t spying.”

A small silver disc clung to the back of your phone.  You struggled to pull it off, so Cypher offered to help

“You don’t need to worry about me holding onto any of your secrets, I cleared the data once I was done.”

“Do you always hack people's phones when you meet them?”

“Yes.”  Cypher’s answer was completely serious, not a hint of sarcasm

You asked more questions, getting a better idea of who this mysterious man was.  It was difficult to get clear answers

“Y/N, I trade secrets for a living.  Give me something and I’ll give you something.”

You thought intensely, then it hit you

“I’ll tell you anything about me you want, but on one condition.”

Cypher’s interest piqued.  He leaned in to meet your gaze

“If you take me somewhere that means something to you, you can interrogate me as much as you want.”

His mask stretched in brief surprise, then slyly relaxed as he sat back in his seat.  He clasped his hands together

“You surprised me with that Y/N.  It’s hard to surprise me, so I’ll take you up on your little interrogation.”

Cypher Date

Cypher’s coordinates and description were slightly difficult to follow, but regardless you managed to get there on time

You asked for the second floor room in the tea shop, and were led up some stairs into a room with cushions, drawn shades, and hanging lamps

The entire room was bathed in dim colorful light and smelled faintly of mint

Next to the table was Cypher, his mask undone but eyes covered with glasses

“Ah, Y/N!  Have a seat, the tea was just brought up.” he gestured to a silver tea pot

You placed yourself across from him and watched as he poured a cup of tea, taking care to stretch his arm upwards to let the tea cool as it fell

He passed the cup to you and motioned for you to drink.  You took a small sip from the steaming broth

It was the best thing you had ever tasted.  It was sweet like honey but had a distinct taste of mint.  Moroccan tea was your new favorite drink to say the least

Cypher enjoyed it with you

“So, even though I may have researched you for security I sadly didn’t get to know you that well.  Tell me more about you.”

You told him about what you did for work, and the places you had traveled to.  Cypher probably knew about it but was still invested

He had his fair share of stories too.  A life of information brokering and spying left him with some incredible tales

His ability to make you hang on every word was unlike anything you had heard before.  The man was a natural storyteller, and invested you quickly

By the time you and Cypher had finished most of the tea, it was getting late and you were beginning to learn more about Cypher’s personal life

“Can I trust you with something Y/N?” Cypher removed his glasses to look at you clearly.  His eyes were a deep shade of mahogany

“Sure, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.”

“My name, my real name, is Amir.  People who are close to me know it, I believe you should know who I am too.”

“Amir,” you said while getting closer, “that’s a beautiful name.  I’m glad you trust me with it.”  

Amir and you said your goodbyes outside of the tea shop, using his alias of course

“Cypher, before you leave again I wanted to thank you for saving me.”

“It was no-”

You kissed him while you had the chance.  You did want to thank him after all

Amir was more than receptive to it, and you eventually had to break it off.  Glasses hid his eyes, but not his excitement

You had captured him this time

YORU

You heard the sound of something falling over and metallic components spilling everywhere

Readying a baseball bat, you flung the door open and prepared to swing 

Instead of a thief or even an animal, you were face to face with an oni.  Spectral blue energy spilled from the out from the portal it was clawing its way out of

Its bright blue eyes glowed with power, and it stepped through the portal towards you 

In your panic you swung and hit him in the ribs

“KUSO!  THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM!”

On closer inspection, the ‘oni’ from before was a man in a bike jacket and wearing a mask.  It didn’t change the fact he was in your garage

“Who are you and why are you in my garage?”  You readied another swing

“Yoru, and I just teleported here because I was making an escape.  I didn’t think anyone was home.”

After a few seconds, Yoru tried to get back up but stumbled.  A red stain on his shirt gave away why

“Did you get shot?”

“What of it?  You hit me with a bat so I don’t get why you give a shit.”

You realized that not only was Yoru wounded, he was also unarmed too.  He had nothing aside from the mask he wore

“Stay here, I’m gonna get you some bandages and gauze.”

“I don’t need that.  I’ll manage without you, plus I don’t think you know what you’re doing.  No offense but I’m not gonna take help from-”

Yoru winced as you applied rubbing alcohol to the wound.  He inhaled sharply as you cleaned the bullet hole and applied aid

Once you had patched him up, he sat in the garage across from you

“So what’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Do you always beat your patients before helping them out?  Or are you that bad at first aid?”

“You wear that mask because you got a messed up face?” you weren’t about to take insults from Yoru after you saved him

He removed the mask, and to your shock he was quite good looking.  He continued to scowl at you between sarcastic comments

He noticed the motorcycle in the garage, and gestured to it

“Oi Y/N.  That yours?”

“Yes, why are you asking?”

“I ride too,” Yoru adjusted his bandage before standing up, “looks like yours has got a bit damage.”

It was true, the motorcycle needed repairs and it was a chore to look up videos and learn to fix it.  It was good to learn, but time consuming

“I could look it over,” Yoru smirked at you, “but I’m not feeling so grateful right now.”

“Then you can come back later as thanks for me patching that hole in your stomach.  Sound good?”

Yoru was surprised at the offer, and despite his outward personality did retain a sense of politeness from his time as a yakuza

“I could come by again.   If I teleport in, you better not lose your mind again and hit me.  That pissed me off last time.”

“I’ll get it out if you forget to come by.”

“You’ve got a deal, Y/N.”

Yoru Date

Yoru teleported into the garage later than when he said he would.  A blue flash alerted you to his arrival

He went over to your toolbox, taking wrenches out and checking the sizes of bolts.  He also removed his jacket, placing it nearby

“Start it up, I wanna hear the engine.”  Yoru tossed you the keys.  The sputtering of the engine was not a great sign

“It’s the carburetor,” Yoru was absolutely certain in his voice

You and him got to work taking apart the bike and getting into the engine.  It was an older model of motorcycle, but Yoru seemed to know exactly what to take apart

Both of you finally got to the engine, and removed part of the engine block to get to the carburetor

“We need to replace it.  Give me a second, don’t touch anything else.”  Yoru disappeared into a portal

In the minute he was gone, the engine began to ooze black fluid.  You rolled your sleeves up and started to remove the engine block to keep it from leaking more

Yoru stepped back, holding a replacement carburetor

“What are you doing?”  

“The engine is leaking oil, I took it out so nothing else gets oil on it.”  

He got down to look at engine you removed, his disapproval turning to satisfaction.  He picked up a wrench and handed it to you

“Take the rest of it apart, we’re fixing the whole block.  After that, we’re gonna do everything else.”

After a few hours, the bike engine, tires, and suspension were replaced with new versions.  Yoru even stole some paint and redid the color on the bike

He got on the bike and started it.  A smooth growl came from the new engine

“Hop on, Y/N.  You and I are gonna make sure nothing’s wrong with the bike.” you both grabbed helmets

You got behind Yoru and held yourself close to his back.  Your hands were firmly around his torso

He revved the engine and peeled out of the garage.  Yoru sped towards the highway and weaved between cars

Street lights and vehicles blurred around you as the motorcycle rushed past them all.  Yoru’s driving was precise, but he was pushing the engine to the limit any chance he got

Cold wind forced you to hold Yoru tighter for warmth.  Even through the jacket, he kept you from freezing

Yoru’s driving had attracted some police cars, to which Yoru decided to let chase him.  He began the chase by popping a wheelie and tearing ahead

The cruisers tried to keep pace with him, but couldn’t match his speed.  Yoru flipped them off as he escaped

Suddenly a blockade appeared on your horizon.  Yoru seemed to smile through his helmet.  “Keep holding on.” he commanded

He drifted the bike into the blockade as he activated his mask.  You and him rode the bike into the rift

Your escape led you right into the garage, where Yoru skidded to a halt.  He hopped off the bike and smirked at you

“So, how do you like my driving Y/N?”

“That was insane.  I loved it!”

“You’ll like this too then.”

Yoru grabbed you and kissed you.  It lasted for a second but the moment seemed longer than that

When the initial shock wore off, you turned to a slightly blushing Yoru

“We should go for a joyride more often.” you muttered with what little sense you had

[lycheedr3ams]

Death's Angel

Part 2: Playing with Fire

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: MDNI! Mentions of smut, eventual filthy smut, mutual pining, forbidden love, death (konig is an executioner duh), mean sisters, mentions of medieval-type violence, overbearing parents, konig is brooding and a perv, some predator/prey dynamics, maybe dark themes bc reader likes seeing him kill people and bc he's a perv?

Part 1 | Part 3

.......

series inspired by the art below!

It's only been a week since konig carried out his first execution at your castle, but you've seen him more times in those few days than you saw your old executioner in 10 years. You found any excuse at all to even just glimpse at him. He was sharpening his axe outside the blacksmith's hut? Suddenly, you remembered you left something outside that just so happened to be right by the blacksmith. He was scrubbing his clothes in the nearby stream? You were planning on dipping your feet in the cool water anyway.

his eyes would linger on you whenever you were in his proximity, but he was always silent. even when you politely wished him "good morning" when you went out of your way to see him, or sent a kind smile his way, all you were met with was a pair of unblinking eyes concealed by a hood as dark as the void. was he playing hard to get? you almost forgot yourself. you are a fucking princess, after all. and he's the new executioner with so much blood on his hands that he'll never be able to scrub off, who has cut off more heads than days he's spent on this earth. he had no business even looking or breathing in your direction.

and yet he still did.

his eyes always found you, even during the rare times you didn't notice him in your proximity. he'd watch the way your dress perfectly hugged your hips, or how perfect your feet looked under the cool water of the stream. on the rare occasions he was able to make direct eye contact with you, his gaze was unwavering. unblinking. he simply couldn't miss a second of anything with you.

your sisters giggled about him, making fun of how tall he was. you defended him each time, but that only led them to teasing you. they wondered why you were sticking up for the troll who lived in the basement of the castle in the most untouchable servants' quarters, where even the light of the torches couldn't reach. you covered your motivations simply by stating your morality, that all people deserve to be treated equally. your sisters got a rise out of that.

you had to be more careful moving forward. if you sisters saw you around the untouchable behemoth you defended, what would they say if they saw you looking at him, smiling at him? You didn't care about your own status or image. It was him you were worried about. so you kept your interactions with him contained within curious glances and smiles when no one was looking. and he drank it all like you were the fountain of youth. but you wouldn't know it, the way his face was always perfectly veiled. a wall.

the autumn harvest ball was finally here. everyone in the castle was preoccupied with something: your parents with looking as perfect as they could, your sisters securing love interests, the servants bustling around the castle, the knights on guard. every living being in the castle tonight was alive and buzzing.

except him. except the untouchable ones who lurked in the castle basement. an unspoken blight on the royal family, yet a necessity for the peace. as you sat in your chair at the family table that overlooked the banquet hall, you wondered what konig was doing right now. had he even eaten? with all the food that needed to be prepared for the banquet, it was likely that his own meal had been overlooked. could he cook his own food? surely he could, but did he even have food to cook, or pots and a fire to cook with? you'd never been down to the lowest servants' quarters, where it smells cold and damp and whispers echo in dark corners. yet your worry for the brooding giant below could not be quelled.

"mother," you leaned over as you whispered. "i am feeling unwell. I might be catching a cold. I think I'm going to lie down for a while."

your mother looked concerned and began to wave some servants over. "they'll tend to you. please come back as soon as you are well again."

your sisters were too busy buttering up whatever sorry chap they each managed to enchant to see you being escorted to your room by some servants. you formulated a plan as they walked you to your room.

"i'm still a bit hungry, would you mind bringing me a plate of food?" you asked one servant. she quickly ran off with a bow. the other servant helped you out of your formal gown and into a much more comfortable and loose dress, but one that still showed your figure. your mother insisted that you always look comely, even in the privacy of your own room. the other servant came back with some food, while the other began to dap your forehead with a cloth.

"you two are dismissed. I've got it from here. thank you," you said with a smile as you took the cloth from the girl. They bowed silently and left you in your room. you leaned against your wooden door and listened until their footsteps could no longer be heard.

You wrapped the plate of food - which had the finest chicken, the best quality of cheeses and fruits - with a spare clean cloth from your drawer. you put on a slight cloak and pulled it over your head, tucked the wrapped plate under your arm precariously, and quietly shut your door as you left your room.

the only issue was, you didn't exactly know how to get down to the basement. there was never any need for you to be there. but luck was on your side, since all servants were in the banquet hall, so no one could see how you snuck around the castle, opening side doors and going down staircases only to get to a dead end. the food was growing cold, and you became worried. finally, you found the passageway down to the basement. but it was guarded by two knights.

you shook your head to yourself. they're technically you're knights, who are they to say where you can and cannot go in your own castle? you walked right by them with a bowed head, as if you frequented the bowels of the castle, and carefully looked around for anything that could pass as an executioner's quarters. it took a while for your eyes to adjust to the low light - you were always used to the well-lit, stained-glass hallways of the main areas. you quietly creeped down a stone hallway, shivering in the cold. you passed by small rooms with no doors and hay beds on the floor, and felt disgusted. how could your parents treat their own servants like this? you kept going, and the hallway ended at a staircase, spiraling down into the earth. this must be the way to konig's quarters, you thought. so, you braced yourself and carefully descended down the stairs.

you reached a point where there was almost no light, and began to be afraid, when you finally saw a single torch at the bottom of the staircase. there was a single door at the bottom, and it was shut. you collected your breath, straightened your back, and knocked a lot more timidly than you had meant.

you heard a wooden chair squeak as he got up and walked towards the door. you heard shuffling of cloth - had his mask been off? and you looked up at him nervously when he slowly opened the door. even in the low light, you could see how wide his eyes were to see you there. he thought you looked perfect, all doe-eyed looking up at him. vulnerable. he could drag you in his room and take you right now if he wanted. but he instead stared at you with his eyes almost popping out of his head.

you cleared your throat and brought the covered plate out from its hiding place underneath your arm. you held it up to him with both hands, saying nothing. your shaking hands told him all he needed to know.

"you shouldn't be here," were the first words he ever spoke to you. your heart dropped.

you blushed and spoke quietly, staring at his chest rather than his eyes that seemed to burn right through you. "i...i didn't know if you had eaten...since all the food in the castle is for the harvest...please...i want you to have this." you held up the plate again and closed your eyes, prepared for him to slam the door your face, when you felt the weight of the plate being lifted from your hands.

he took the plate and stared down at you. "thank you," he barely whispered. you perked back up and looked at him, the fear in your face now morphed into a mixture of happiness and concern. you were practically serving yourself on that plate for him. after a moment of staring at each other, you realized he wasn't going to speak again.

"i hope you like the food," you said timidly as you stared down what almost seemed to be the devil himself. this man was so dark and brooding, like a horrible thunderstorm that was standing at a respectable distance from you, just waiting for the right gust of wind to blow him your way.

konig wordlessly turned around and made a bee line for the crude wooden table in his living quarters. he left the door open. an invitation? you looked at him, spooked, but his back was to you as he sat down and removed the cloth from the plate. you tiptoed your way inside his room and looked around. there was a modest bed in one corner, the table he sat at with two splintered wooden chairs, and a rotted chest at the foot of the bed. you approached the table cautiously, afraid he might turn and sink his teeth into you, before you sat down at the other chair across from him.

he ate the food with his hands, which you found oddly endearing. if you saw any other person doing that, you would've been disgusted. but the way he carefully pulled apart the chicken and reached up into his mask to eat, almost like how an elephant eats, tugged on your heartstrings. you noticed, however, that he was eating very fast. almost like he was starved. looking around, you didn't notice any other plates in the room.

"i trust you're being fed well?" you asked, not bothering to hide the concern dripping from your voice. he glanced up at you before returning to his meal. "please tell me if you're not being fed enough -"

"i am," he roughly uttered as he swallowed a large piece of chicken.

"the way you're eating, it looks like you haven't eaten in days," you observe with a slightly teasing tone to your voice. he finally finished eating and wiped his hands on his pants.

"not your concern," he said as he gently threw the cloth you wrapped the plate with across the table. despite his rough words, you knew his intentions. there was no bite, no malice, in his tone. as a princess, you weren't supposed to be worried about him. you weren't even supposed to look at him. and here you were, in the executioner's room, making sure he's being fed and cared for.

"keep it," you say as you shake your hand. "you might need it for something. and I know it's not my concern, but I do want to make sure that you..." you cleared your throat and blushed "and everyone else in this castle is well taken care of."

konig stared at you so intently that you felt glued to your chair. your heart stopped in your chest.

"you play with fire, princess."

your breathing got deeper, which did not go unnoticed by him. princess was literally your title. it wasn't supposed to make your panties soaked or your nipples hard when you were called that. especially not when you were called that by the executioner. in his room. in the lowest part of the castle. he could have you screaming his name, and no one would be any wiser.

"there's nothing wrong with fire," you clumsily tried to flirt, or ease the tension. you weren't sure. "it's warm. it keeps us safe from beasts. brings us together."

"it burns. destroys." he said deeply.

you gulped. "yes, it can do that as well. you just have to handle it properly."

konig was near speechless at your effortless banter, the way you tried to convince him that he wasn't whatever beast he thought he was. he fell silent and stood up abruptly from his chair. he looked at you, almost confused, before walking towards the door.

"you should go," he said as he stood by the door with his hand holding it open.

part of you wanted to tease him, wanted to tell him that you wanted to stay. but he was probably right. if your sisters or mother found out you were away from your room for too long, things could get bad. you stood up and walked towards the door. you were about to wish him goodnight as you passed the entryway when he spoke again from behind you.

"you always stare at me," he stated plainly.

You turned and blushed as you looked past his muscular frame and at the wooden table. "does it bother you?"

"no."

feeling a surge of confidence, you smiled up at him. "goodnight, konig. i'm glad you enjoyed the food."

you nodded your head at him in respect before sneaking back up to your room. when he shut the door behind you and threw off his hood, he couldn't admit to himself how red his face was, or how his cock strained in his pants. he didn't tell you how he had never had food of such high quality before, or that a girl has never shown him kindness like you did. he didn't tell you the things he wanted to do to you as you sat timidly in that chair. how he would have rather been feasting on your core than the chicken you so kindly brought him.

and you let him keep the cloth. you were so innocent, he almost felt bad.

taglist: @kneelingshadowsalome

[r-rizzo]

hi! your jon snow headcanon is fantastic! you could make an imagine of aemond targaryen, where he and targaryen!reader (who is daughter of viserys and alicent too) take a ride on their dragons and the reader rides VERMITHOR! in honor of your name. after taking a flight, they arrive on an island or something where they spend their time, lots of fluff and kissing! thank you. 💝💝

dragon moon. | aemond targaryen

❝ pairing: aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader.

❝ summary: aemond was never a lonely child, since he was always with his sister, the princess y/n targaryen, the second daughter of the second marriage of king viserys. since then, they have always been in love, that is why, on every full moon, they get together on trips on their dragons to show their love.

❝ warning: targcest, aemond being sweetbread with his lover, wild kisses and aemond's hands going elsewhere, vermithor is in love with vhagar, just two teenagers in love, a possibly mistranslated valyrian.

❝ note: this is my first request about aemond and i'm very excited! i want you to leave me your opinions on how i write, constructive criticism is always welcomed, especially if it is respectful. i hope you like it!

THE COLD night wind entered through your window, lifting the dress from your legs, getting you to wake up. you huffed in annoyance, sitting up quickly on the bed and rushing to slam the window shut.

you stood at the window, rubbed your eyes and looked at the stars that adorned the sky of king's landing. the stars seemed to throb when you looked at them, the wind that crashed against your window seemed to go slower and more delicate in your presence. and the moon, the beautiful bright full moon, seemed to grow brighter and brighter before your eyes.

until, before your very eyes, a shadow extinguished it for a moment, accompanied by a dragon's roar, "that dragon ate the moon" you thought, but it was physically impossible. vhagar crossed your field of vision, blocking the moon with her massive body.

you knew that your brother, aemond, rode vhagar on bright moonlit nights around the king's landing with the purpose of waiting for you, he did not dare to invite you, but he expected you.

so, without wasting any more time, you took a coat warm enough to fly on the back of your dragon and you left through the secret door of your room, which, for your convenience, it led directly to the dragon pit, where vermithor, the dragon you rode, was waiting for you.

your feet crunched under the dirt of the pit, you took the burning torch that was on the wall and made your way to vermithor. it was an easy dragon to tame from the stories your father had told you, you always wanted to tame an adult dragon, and vermithor had been gentle with you.

you had approached, with only seven years but great courage, to the place where the dragon waited. and when he saw you, he didn't roar or spit fire at you, he offered you his head to caress.

ever since, you knew vermithor was as much yours as king jaehaerys's. you had a special bond and everyone knew it, they knew it from the day they saw you flying king's landing on the back of a large hermit dragon.

while you remembered how you tamed your dragon, your path was over. you left the torch on the ground and approached in search of your dragon.

"skoriot issi ao, vermithor?" you called your dragon out of the darkness. you listened to his warm breath, until, peeking out of the dark pit, his nose approached your face. scaring you, but you knew that what he was looking for was simple affection. "nyke kesīr, dona zaldrīzes" you said between laughs, caressing and kissing vermithor's nose.

vermithor closed his fiery eyes at your touch, moving closer to you, rubbing his head against yours. "jikagon de ivestragī syt nykeā kipagon rūsīr vhagar" you said bluntly, moving away from him as he followed you from behind.

when you could see the moonlight on your face, you were already mounted on vermithor, who, after your order, ran until he took the impulse and rose into the air.

the wind moved your long white hair, you closed your eyes at the sensation of the cold hitting your face and you were grateful for having brought a coat with you. vermithor was not fast like the young dragons, but for you, his flight was just perfect. its bronze wings shimmered in the light, and you found their contrast fascinating.

"issa zaldrīzes" you listened to your side, you opened your eyes to meet aemond on vhagar, who seemed more excited than usual to be next to vermithor. you smiled at him, trying to get as close to him as possible, "issa jorrāelagon" you said and you could see how his eye became small when he smiled at you.

aemond felt complete with you, you were the woman he always loved, you were everything he was missing and, although he suffered a lot from not having a dragon, he had you, and that made him love you more.

you were with him when the velaryon boys gave him a pig and you defended him from aegon, you were with him when he took vhagar and when he lost his eye.

aemond not only lost his eye for a dragon, he lost it because you. when all the children rushed to hit him, you tried to defend him, but jacaerys prevented it, throwing you away from aemond and causing you to hit your head on the ground. that was enough for aemond.

and now, while vhagar and vermithor pass each other in the skies, he doesn't mind having only one eye, because he has you.

he has your laugh when you see vermithor trying to beat vhagar, he has you saying "my love" every day, afternoon and night, he has you loving him, and for him, it is enough.

after a long race, where according to the criteria of the two, each dragon had won, you arrived at the island where you always stopped, where you had shown your love more than once.

and it's not that you couldn't in the castle, of course you did, after all, aemond always told his mother that you would be his wife. but you enjoyed the moments alone, where no one could disturb you.

you let vermithor land on the ground, and when he stabilized, you got off his back, you saw the largest dragon in the world land a little ahead of you, but still, vhagar seemed unwilling to keep his distance from vermithor. as you approached its rider, who was down to earth, you caressed your dragon's long neck until you reached its nose, where you left a kiss.

"sȳz trabajo rūs" you said, leaving one last kiss on his nose. you turned completely away from him and walked towards aemond, who was making his way towards you as well.

"she is so beautiful" he thought, seeing how behind you, vermithor raised his wings towards the sky, and the cold wind behind him only clarified that the dragons would take a walk by themselves. when you were close, he wasted no time wrapping his strong arms around your waist, pulling you so close that your chest hit his.

you laughed, but you put your arms around his neck and brushed his hair. you smiled at him, giving aemond a closer look at your smile and how your purple eyes grew small. he loved everything about you.

"you're beautiful" he said in a sigh, gently squeezing your waist, you smiled, bringing your nose close enough for them to caress "i love you, aemond" you said, placing your hands on his neck and bringing it closer to your lips.

"i love you too, y/n" he said, clasping his arms tightly behind your back and finally connecting his lips with yours. his lips were perfectly set, something that drove aemond crazy, your soft and cold lips made him more and more tense and how they moved fiercely against his made him lose control. whenever you kissed it was a battle, a battle between dragons and control.

your legs lost their stability when aemond began to pass one of his hands over your back, caressing it from top to bottom and leaving small squeezes against your waist. but god, his other hand was on your ass and he wasn't just rubbing it, he was squeezing it hard. he wanted you.

you did not know when, but you were on the ground and aemond on you. desperate to rip your clothes off when his hands rushed to take your coat off. but not even the heat that he made you feel, you could forget the cold.

"aemond" you said, peeling your lips against his and pushing your hands against his chest. his eye scans you, thinking of possible harm. "did i hurt you?" he asked and you denied with a smile "so what's wrong, my love?" his hand reached out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

you breathed heavily, needing the air that kiss had taken from you. "it's too cold to do it here, my prince" he smiled and nodded, understanding your reason but not giving up "i can try to keep you warm" his hand found its place between your thighs, but even though you wanted it, you couldn't.

"we are immune to fire, not cold" you said, kissing his nose and sitting down. aemond got off of you and sat down, but he took you with him until he had you on his lap, his forehead found yours, closing his eye to your breath.

"we can continue later" you said and he nodded, took the coat he had taken from you and put it on your shoulders, wrapped his arms around you and rested your head on his neck.

"if my wife wants to continue later, that's how it will be"

masterlist | © vermithorider | do not steal, copy, publish my work without my consent, if you wish, ask and inform me about it, I am the one who should give you my permission.

[under-cotton-and-calicos]

Take Me Back To Eden

Multiple Ghosts x AFAB Reader

AN: It’s been a long while. I’ve been busy [insert unhinged ao3 author life update here]. This has been sitting in my drafts for the LONGEST time jeez. Wasn’t really satisfied with any of the directions it took so I finally sat down and committed to something. May or may not have a sequel. I recommend listening to “Descending” by Sleep Token while you read this. As the title implies, I’m kinda obsessed with the band right now. Enjoy!

tags: cult sex, orgy, heavy dubcon, ghosts, ancient deity, mind manipulation, oral sex, vaginal penetration, rough sex, WEIRD CUM

Word count: 3.9k

With a pathetic sputter, the incessant humming of your old corolla’s engine gives way to silence. For a few moments, you sit in the dark and quiet, a mixture of excitement and anxiety raising goosebumps on your skin. You’ve done this hundreds of times, you’re sure that today you’re going to get your big hit. It has to be.

You slam your car door shut and take a deep breath, a gym bag filled with equipment and cameras slung over one shoulder, your free hand guiding the beam of your heavy duty torch across the entrance of the abandoned bar. The old, faded sign perched above its entrance is unreadable, faintly you can make out traces of looping letters. Its battered and dusty exterior belies the rumours you’ve heard about the place.

You were supposed to come with your posse, but every single one of them had work or family issues that cropped up at the last minute. Not one to be deterred by fear, you ended up making the drive down alone. In spite of the cool night, your skin is warm with anticipation as you cross the threshold and slip into the bar.

Not much is known about its origins or history- it’s a small, rundown lot in a slow and quiet part of town, so no one has ever paid it much attention. It had been a hole-in-the-wall style pub that attracted a small and dedicated group of patrons before mysteriously closing abruptly. Hours of digging through the net gave you enough reason to suspect that there was an abnormal cause behind why it still hadn’t been bought out for decades, though. The reports of ghostly apparitions in the crevices of obscure forums led you down a rabbit hole. Soon enough, you managed to find a video posted online, taken by some teenagers roped in by a bet. You studied it for hours, pausing at every frame.

You can still remember the sweet thrill, the goosebumps that formed on your skin when you noticed the wispy, grey figures hidden behind corners in several frames. Jackpot. 

Your friends had told you that they were edited but your gut told you otherwise. There was a genuine fear in those kids’ eyes, you bet on it.

As you manoeuvre through old tables and chairs, you notice that the furniture is still well kept, barring the fact that everything is covered in layers of dust.The retro style bar, stools and shelves are all in good condition, though lacking bottles of booze and the typical drink making paraphernalia. Maybe someone still cares for the place? 

You notice a few doors that hadn’t been explored in the video, so you try each handle, one of them leading to an empty storage room, another leading to a kitchen behind the bar, the next to a decrepit restroom. Curiously, there’s a long stairway behind a stuffy curtain going down to what you presume is a basement door. There’s an inlaid symbol on the door, made from burnished golden metal, its fine quality at odds with everything else in the bar. You’ve never seen anything like it before- the silhouette of a tree firmly rooted to the earth, its branches and roots reminiscent of…horns?

There’s something compelling about it. Your stomach dips at the thought of you opening the door, but you want to. There’s something on the other side of it.

When you yank on the handle, it doesn’t budge, breaking you out of your momentary stupor. You shake your head and blink. 

Caught up in the moment?

“Damn.” You sigh. Typically, you would leave lockpicking to another one of your friends. There isn’t much you can do about it, so you decide to set up a few thermal cameras overlooking the tables and bar, as well as an REM pod for proximity detection on the countertop.

Kneeling behind the countertop, you turn on your spirit box, its harsh white noise filling the quiet. Through the static, you call into the night.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

There’s no response, but you introduce yourself and continue. You’re well accustomed to this pattern already, after years of this. The hauling of equipment, meticulously setting everything up, dicking around for a few hours and then packing up and heading home. Keep the time spent idle low, and expectations even lower. Perhaps it’s because you’re alone tonight. There’s a charge in the atmosphere, a certain secrecy and wonder to the ritual.

“I'd really like it if you told me your name.”

“Like.” The artificial, crackly word emerges from the static.

“Yes, I’d like it if you introduced yourself too.” You wait a few more moments before the next word. For a while, monosyllabic words are all you receive. So you dig and prompt until you tag onto something.

“More.”

“More?”

“M…More tha-an.” 

“There’s more than one of you?” You say, peering around the empty bar. There’s no sign of the specters from the video, only swirling mites of dust suspended in the air under the glow of your torchlight. “Where are you?”

“H-Here.”

Suddenly, your REM pod flashes green, red, blue against the shadows, signalling that something is close by, very close by. But instead of its typical bleeping, a warbled wail echoes through the empty bar, causing you to flinch from how loud it is. The fuck?

You turn around and direct your torch towards the pod. Your heart falters.

A crowd of grey specters are standing behind the counter, their forms towering over where you’re kneeled on the ground. Their bodies are featureless, rippling as though they could blink out of existence at any moment, at odds with the physical realm. For a second, you can’t bring yourself to do anything. You feel dread, you're stunned, but underneath it all, the irrational, ghost hunting geek in you is baffled. Holy shit, holy shit.

You jump to your feet, backed against the shelves. Their heads tilt upwards, following your movement. And then you’re fleeing, terror driving you to run from the very situation that you’ve been chasing down for years.

The moment you’re behind the steering wheel, you step on the gas, your corolla protesting as it's jolted out of its sleep and forced to shoot down the empty street. You don’t stop to turn and look.

“Wait.” A real voice overlaps with the one coming from your spirit box still clutched in your sweaty palm, but you don’t stop, turning the corner around the countertop and passing through an ethereal, translucent arm reaching out to stop you. You burst out of the bar into the cooler night air and shakily jam your key into your car, cursing as you struggle to get the door open.

Holy shit, you chant over and over again, they’re real, they’re real!

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Your alarm wakes you from a restless slumber, one of many in the past few months. With a groan, you fumble for your phone with your eyes still closed and turn it off. 

“Fuck…” You curse at the soreness in your back and slick between your legs. It happened again last night.

Tugging your underwear down, you stare at the sticky mess you’d created in your sleep. Glimpses of your dream, or nightmare, flash through your head, sending a quiver down your spine. Your breath hitches at the thought, you palm your stiff nipples through your ratty old shirt and begin fingering your cunt, warm and dripping wet. 

You’ve been tormented by a string of dreams lately, each one leaving you aching in the morning. So much so that you have had to incorporate masturbation into your morning routine. It’s never satisfying though, your fingers and toys don’t come even close to what you experience in the nasty recesses of the dreamscape hidden in your mind. All of them are vivid and realistic, but when you wake, you can only recall little snatches- greedy hands taking their fill of your body and being bent over, being filled…being defiled.

And with your equipment left at the bar, what can you do? There is no evidence of your findings. You can’t tell your friends that you’ve been having wet dreams almost incessantly since that night alone in the bar. You would seem like a lunatic.

But it wouldn’t be wrong to call this a kind of madness. Frantic and possessive. Bodies cast in vibrant colour, shadowed and swaying against you. Cast in the black behind your eyelids is a gold insignia, beckoning you closer and closer.

With a whimper, you cum, body folding over and shaking as you ride out your climax. Temporarily satiated, you slump back into your pillows dramatically, staring at your ceiling. Something from that bar had followed you home. And you want to go back.

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The empty district is just as quiet as it was the last time you were here. It’s a cold night, and you tug your sweater around your shoulders as you lean back in your car seat. It’s undeniable that you’re a little scared- you feel like one of those idiot teenagers in horror movies that get themselves killed for wandering recklessly into danger. Again, something tells you that it’s different. Or maybe you’re just horny.

With your torch in one hand and your phone in the other, you enter the bar. All of your equipment is just as you left it. You trace your finger over the REM pod on the countertop, dusty but intact. It’s…quiet.

What did you expect? To get jumped the moment you came in? There’s no sign of the specters as well. You’re a bit disappointed, because it means that those dreams you’ve been having might not have been supernatural at all, and worse, the specters might have been a figment of your imagination.

Just as you resolve to pack up your things and leave, a sliver of light catches your eye, cast against the dark floor. Purple light streams between the curtains that lead to the locked basement. Your heart begins to pick up pace again, and you rush over, brushing aside the thick, heavy fabric to see the stairway down illuminated. The door is open!

“H-Hello?” You call out, flicking your torchlight off and leaning it against a step. With hesitant steps, you descend, eyes adjusting to the dim artificial light. You know this atmosphere, this tension in the air from the distinctive purple haze of your dreams. Almost instinctively, your core warms and you can feel yourself shiver, a conditioned response.

 When you reach the base of the stairs, your breath stalls in your throat and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips. The same apparitions that have been haunting your dreams are there, facing you, as if waiting for your inevitable return. Your nervous eyes scan the rest of the room, it looks like you’ve stepped into another realm entirely- gone are the cheap and neon plastics of the bar, there’s a pool of fabrics and pillows, and an altar, carved from stone with tall pillars of candles by its sides.

Dazed, you don’t realise that you’ve been walking until you’re a few feet in front of the specters, their heads following you uncannily. 

“I-I…” You sputter, jittery under their heavy, obscured gaze. They haven’t even done anything to you yet, but your head is all cotton and gauze. Slowly, you sink to your knees.

“My dreams. I’ve seen you there.” You say, awe-struck. A delicate voice replies, soft as a gossamer sheet.

“I am glad that you’ve returned.” It confuses you. You’re not sure if the voice is coming from one of the specters before you or if it’s echoing through your head, like you’re on a phone call with someone in the same room as you. Up close, their forms are ethereal, shimmering and tinted purple from the lights, shifting ever-so-slightly.

You can still make out the shape of a mouth and a nose on their faces, as well as outlines of their limbs and hands. One reaches out to you, fitting the curve of your cheek in the palm of their hand- your eyes widen at the touch, it feels real, cold but solid against you.

“Good one…pretty one…” They close around you, clamouring to touch you. A hand combs through your hair, traces the curve of your ear, another slides past the collar of your shirt to the dip between your shoulder blades, and one presses its fingers against your lips.

Strange, you think, opening your mouth obediently for the cold fingers to savour the wet warmth of your tongue. Every cell in your body is alight, bristling with energy and ready to burst at the seams. This is what you’ve been wanting for so, so long. 

How could I have been terrified of them before this?

“More, more.” Not enough of you is exposed it seems. You shed your sweater, your hard nipples visible through thin fabric. The atmosphere bristles a bit, you think, as you finally discard your shirt, your breasts and inviting skin on display for them to grab at, their touch growing more hungry.

They whisper, trailing lower and lower. You close your eyes for just a moment, the jostling bodies around you giving way to darkness as you relish in the feeling of hands that grope your chest, firm nipples being pinched and tugged at, your bare body slowly becoming accustomed to their supernatural chill. Something bumps against your lips and you smile, opening your eyes once again to bat your eyelashes up at the specter that has its stiff cock in hand, unabashedly asking for entry.

You open wide, sticking your tongue out for the specter to slide its head against you. You think you hear a whimper, and you’re pleased to feel it twitching as you close your mouth around it, humming as you bob your head and take more of its length down your throat. It’s solid, hard like a human’s, and you can feel the bump of veins trailing down its shaft. Behind you, one kneels down and presses its torso up against your back, a hand cupping your soaking sex and another kneading your breast. 

“Here…!” Two more specters hovering over you tug at your arms impatiently, wrapping your hands around their own dicks. Obliging their requests, you stroke them lazily, eyes flitting between all of the spirits that surround you. The ones that are not latched to your body stand a short distance away, fisting themselves, undoubtedly staring at you get busy. Underneath their innumerable gaze, you’re exhilarated, and a thought flits through your mind- they’ll all have a chance to run you through later, and you’ll be able to experience it all in reality. 

The specter shoves two fingers into your needy hole, grinding them against your sweet spot. You falter, but the specter that’s in your mouth clamps its hands around your head, sinking so deep that your face is flush with their crotch. The two rut into your tightened grip, gasping and groaning fills your head.

“So good…so good…Ah!” 

When a finger flicks at your clit, you cum hard, body arching and thighs quaking. You’re stunned momentarily, and you swallow back the spit pooling in your throat, squeezing around the specter. Suddenly, its grip in your hair grows stronger, bordering on pain as it cums too, cold, thick liquid shooting into the back of your throat and covering your tongue. It tastes like nothing, you note, gasping for air when it detaches from you and releases its grip on your head.

What catches you off guard is the colour of its seed, a thick white substance that drips down your chin onto the floor between your legs, giving off an otherworldly glow. Immediately, another takes its place- the one on the right that had you fisting its cock guides it into your mouth and plugs you up again. This one is less patient, it holds you in place and fucks into your mouth. They use you like a sex toy, taking turns occupying your hands and mouth, grabbing at your chest and fingering your cunt. Any hesitation or endearing nervousness that occupied the specters has disappeared, and you’re elated. You lose count of how many have cum on you, they spill on your face, your chest, covering you in their ungodly semen. It becomes a dizzying cycle, and between your climaxes and theirs’, you lavish them with all that you can give, just as you did in your dreams. What you can take down your throat, you do gladly, an appreciative hum is your reward when you obediently swallow and accept the spurts of cum onto your body.

Suddenly, after a specter smears its cum across your tits, you’re pulled to your feet. Shaky and tired legs unable to support your body, you’re carried over to the altar that you saw earlier and laid upon it. It’s the perfect height, and you groan as a specter grinds its cock against your wet folds. Your legs are spread wide apart, and the empty spaces around you are quickly taken by eager spirits. They pause though, and seem to wait for something patiently. A name is called, something unintelligible, not in the human tongue, not anything you’ve heard before.

They say something in an alien tongue, and look upwards to the ceiling. There is something you didn’t notice before, the same sigil as the one on the door is painted there. In a split second, a collage of memories are made clear in your mind’s eye- you see offerings of wine and food, people kneeling before hulking statues and trees, orgies in secluded areas where hedonism flourishes, lush with the scent of sex and flowers.

The specter between your legs breaks you out of your reverie, and you’re suddenly in the basement once again, fully aware of your dripping cunt, the need. There’s an energy in the room that wasn’t there previously, charged and crackling. You groan when it fits its bulbous head against your entrance, hands kneading the flesh of your thighs as it enters you. And finally, finally you are one with them. You stare entranced at where you are joined, its thick, translucent cock stretching your starved cunt.

“Fuck me, please.” You rasp, throwing your head back when it begins to thrust into you, setting a brutal pace. Again, the specters crowd around you and put you to work. Closing your eyes, you lose yourself in the wave of pleasure, the friction of the heavy cock in your pussy, the numerous hands that guide you and delight in the touch of your skin.

“You…you…” The voice bristles in your head, and there it is again- snatches of that scene and the voice, it’s getting stronger. You can barely focus, between the ghostly bodies all around you and the thread of a connection to It. They’re both equally addictive- the delicious stretch and fill, the wandering hands all over your overstimulated body, and the irresistible draw to something powerful and primordial. Closer, closer, closer.

The specter fucking into you quivers, its pace quickening and its thrusts growing shallower. It’s about to cum inside you, and you wrap your legs around its translucent torso to force it even deeper inside. In response, its hands grab your hips with so much force that you’re sure they’re going to bruise.

“Perfect.” The word is whispered into the shell of your ear, low but with the power of a command. Instantly, you feel like euphoria has flooded your body, too much of it. Every sensation is painfully amplified, the bliss of each thrust between your legs rapturous and overwhelming. You cum, and the specter does too, you can feel its cold seed like ice in your hot, hot cunt, flooding you, seeping into your being. Every cell in your body is screeching from pleasure so high that it hurts. 

“Oh. Too much?” 

There’s tears streaming down your cheeks. Your thoughts are melting together and no words form on your tongue, all you can manage is a pathetic nod as your body seizes in agony and orgasmic bliss.

“Apologies, it’s been a while.” It says, and just as quick as it compelled you, the euphoria is sapped from your body. The relief is another form of pleasure, and as you relax, you feel a gush of liquid seep past where you’re joined to the specter- you’re squirting, a puddle of it forming on the altar and dripping onto the floor. 

“Sensitive, aren’t you?” It whispers again, cool and calm as you gasp for breath. “I like it.”

“What…what-” You’re cut off by the specter dragging its cock out of you, leaving you gaping for the next one in line. You let out a high-pitched whine as the mix of semen and your slick spills out of you. As though to comfort you, one specter cradles your cheek and promptly nudges its dick past your lips. They seem to be oblivious to the conversation going on, or they carry on in spite of it.

“Don’t think. Just let go.” Another cock is thrust into you, barely giving you any reprieve as it pounds into you, intent on getting you filled again.

What are you?

“A vague question gets you a vague answer.” It tuts, “I am the bliss that found its way into your dreams, the cruelty that left you wanting more, and the hunger that brought you back here to me.”

Hands reach out to pinch and twist your nipples and clit, forcing you to let out a muffled yelp.

“It hardly seems fair for you to pay little attention to those who have been fucking you so vigorously. Well, given that you can’t form a coherent thought, the ones that have you speared on their cocks are my most devoted followers. They have been so gracious as to offer their spirits for my perusal.”

And now you understand- it’s a god, an ancient deity on the ceiling looking down upon you, casting its impartial and frigid gaze on this debauchery, orchestrated for its sake.

“And you, my little pleasure, are the first taste of life I’ve had down here in a long time.” Its tone has a vicious bite, excitement palpable. At that, the specters, or puppets in you cum, the elation of their master influencing their own pleasure, no doubt. You choke around the cock forced down your throat, cutting off your breathing until it pulls free from you and you choke down air and seed.

You’re so replete, so tired, you’re not sure whether you can take anymore-

“You will.” 

Warily, you sweep your gaze across the hoard of hungry spirits hunched over you.

“After all, isn’t this what you wanted?”

Throughout the night, you’re used over and over, your poor cunt fucked and filled more times than you can count. Just as you think it may end, another specter is between your legs, alternating between lapping up the mess between your legs and pumping its seed into you again. All while some ancient and cruel god speaks to you. With each climax, you feel your consciousness slipping further away, the teasing and praise of the voice in your ear growing ever more distant…

When you wake, you’re exhausted. The specters had disappeared, leaving you on the altar. Despite the throbbing in your core and muscles, you manage to pull your clothes back on and make your way up the stairs, the unpleasant stickiness of your skin urging you to get home as soon as possible so you can take a shower.

A draft sends a chill down your spine, a whisper like a caress brushes past you.

I’ll see you soon, little pleasure.

You’re relieved to see your corolla on the streetside, and as you limp to your car you make a mental note to pack up your equipment the next time you’re here.

[peachdues]

The Bitter & the Sweet — a steamy snippet

Rengoku x F!Ice Pillar — Secret Pregnancy AU

A/N: I’m ovulating so here y’all go.

A snippet of the✨first time✨ between Rengoku and the Ice Pillar in The Bitter & the Sweet. It takes place after their surprise first kiss (which I won’t spoil here — at least, not yet)

CW: suggestive/steamy, but I’m not giving y’all the NSFW stuff yet.

Y/L/N, it seemed, had either made good on her threat to roast her crow, or she’d temporarily fired the bird.

The one which now circled above Kyojuro’s head appeared to await his acknowledgement, but as he began walking, the crow began to fly ahead, beseeching him to follow. His curiosity got the better of him, as did his desire to see the Ice Hashira once more, and so, he obliged and followed the sleek bird.

Kyojuro was led up a small, winding path past the Ice Pillar’s estate. Though it was nearly midnight, the path, laid with smooth white stones, was gently lit by a line of flickering torches that he could see tapered off before the path emptied into some kind of clearing. As he drew closer to the path’s end, Kyojuro could smell the faintest traces of the floral notes he only ever associated with the beautiful Ice Hashira.

The end of the path opened to reveal an intricate spring of interconnected pools, connected with rocky formations that appeared to be hewn from moonstone. The spring enjoyed a fair degree of privacy thanks to the thick grove of red cedar trees which encircled it, with the clearing in which Kyojuro now stood being the only entry to and from the heated spring.

The pools themselves looked like something out of a dream. Thick tendrils of steam rolled of the shimmering, sea-green water, and Kyojuro found himself longing to feel the hot water soak into his muscles.

A cursory glance over the spring had Kyojuro’s heart leaping to his throat; for there, standing in the middle of the luminescent turquoise water, was the Ice Pillar herself.

Her back was turned to him, but it was clear as day that the crow had led him right to her while she was in the middle of bathing.

Kyojuro felt a heat rise in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the steamy waters, as his eyes roamed the exposed skin of her shoulders, the water concealing the rest of her beneath its shimmering depths.

Mouth dry, the Flame Pillar made to move away, to get as far from the Ice Hashira’s private bathing spring as he could before she became aware of his presence, but her lilting voice stopped him in his tracks.

“I thought that might be you.”

Kyojuro’s traitorous feet would not move from his spot as Y/L/N rose from the water. Though his eyes immediately fixed themselves on anything but the nude woman — goddess — standing in the middle of the pool, Y/L/N made no effort to cover herself.

“Please, forgive me, Y/L/N, I had no idea-“

“Kyojuro,” she interrupted, her voice soft but sultry. “Please. Join me.”

Kyojuro wondered if it were possible for his heart to have lodged in his throat. He tried, so very hard, to keep his eyes focused on Y/L/N’s face, but his treacherous gaze dropped to what the water had been concealing from him.

At the first sight of the generous swells of her breasts, and the sensual dip of her waist, her skin glistening from the water, Kyojuro was a goner.

Wordlessly, his hands removed his haori and began fumbling with the buttons of his uniform. Though Kyojuro would consider himself fluid and graceful in battle, he found that here, under the heady stare of the Ice Pillar, his movements had become jerky and impatient.

He tried not to let the flush on his face show as Y/N’s stare lowered as Kyojuro shucked his pants down his legs, exposing his hardening member to the warm spring air, but the answering blush that spread across her cheeks as her eyes traced his length had him nearly trembling with desire. Finally freed of the constraints of his uniform, the Flame Pillar stepped from the smooth stones that formed steps down into the hot spring pool.

Kyojuro nearly groaned at the way the steaming water soaked into his aching muscles, the healing properties of the spring working quickly to ease the tension he’d not realized he’d been carrying. The relaxing heat of the spring, however, did little to ease the growing hardness below his navel, and the Flame Pillar found himself grateful for depth of the water.

Slowly, and somewhat shyly, he made his way towards the waiting Ice Pillar. Every step closer to her allowed the details of her exposed body come into focus, setting Kyojuro’s skin on fire.

When he was within an arm’s length of her, he stopped, his eyes fixed on hers.

“You kissed me,” she said simply, her head tilting as she considered him.

Kyojuro tried to swallow around the lump in his throat, but found it impossible given how dry his mouth had become. “Yes, I did, and I apologize, Y/L/N. I was just so relieved -“

“Would you like to kiss me again?” Y/N’s question made his nervous ramblings evaporate from his tongue.

It took him a moment to gather himself enough to respond. “Yes,” he breathed, and Y/L/N took a step towards him, a small smile spreading across her beautiful mouth. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

Kyojuro could not suppress the shiver that coursed through him as he felt Y/L/N’s skin brush against his upper abdomen as she pressed her lithe, heavenly body against him, her eyes dropping to his lips.

“Then you may,” she whispered, tilting her face for him as she waited.

His hands rose hesitantly to rest against her waist, and Kyojuro shuddered at the smooth warmth of her skin beneath his palms.

His dreams had mostly revolved around what it would be likely to simply hold the Ice Pillar in his arms — to press her against his chest as her arms wrapped around his middle, and to be able to brush his lips against hers, softly — teasingly.

But there had been a handful of dreams in which Kyojuro had done far more with the vexatious, beautiful woman, dreams that had reduced him to a sweating mess in his futon, left his heart pounding as his eyes flew open the moment his dream-self would sink into her molten heat. Those dreams had always unsettled him, not merely because he woke up embarrassed for having thought of his comrade in such a lascivious manner; but also because of the gnawing pit of frustrated want those dreams left him with once he awoke.

Besides, Y/L/N had long since been elevated in his mind from that of a mere ‘comrade.’ She had become something far more precious to him.

Kyojuro mused that not even his wildest fantasies about the Ice Pillar could have prepared him for the real thing: for the woman, peering up at him through long, thick eyelashes as she leaned to press her bare torso against his, the water parting around them as as they came together, a matching blush spreading across both of their faces. His dreams had not done her justice, not in the slightest; they had failed to capture the exquisite plushness of her breasts as they pressed against his upper abdomen, or the way her soft floral scent combined with the thick tendrils of steam rising from the water’s surface until his head had been utterly fogged by her.

As he began to close the distance between their lips, Kyojuro was reminded that his reality was far superior to his reveries.

don’t worry, i’ll give y’all plenty of smut before I rip your hearts out