#The Parasitic Chambers

[blastbeatdbeat]

Conjureth - The Parasitic Chambers

[drondskaath]

Conjureth | The Parasitic Chambers | 2023

American Death Metal

Artwork by Erskine Design

https://conjureth.bandcamp.com/album/the-parasitic-chambers

[nowonlyghosts]

Conjureth // The Parasitic Chambers

(2023)

[leonisdumbasallhell]

I request 🔪 for my favorite 🔪 with Chris hehehehehe

🔪 Awake surgery - ooohohoho okay

(Addind a break because I would classify this as Things That Gross ME Out, Which is Hard To Do, So Good Job Me)

-------------------------------------------

"I'm really sorry Chris."

Rebecca really did sound it. Her quiet, somber voice almost a comfort as she prepped the bulging, vibrating sting on his leg. She really shouldn't have to be doing this, not at 18. Fuck, how was she here to start with? She was younger than Claire. Fuck, he can't die. What would happen to Claire? He snapped back to the present as Rebecca got started.

Chris grit his teeth as Rebecca slid the scalpel across his skin, gently peeling it away to reveal the abscess the wasp had left behind.

"Jesus, are those maggots?"

Chris knew he shouldn't be watching but he was horrifically transfixed on the pocket of dead flesh the wasps sting had left behind. He hadn't thought anything of it at first. Sure, it had hurt, but most wasp stings do, and he'd been stung by wasps before. Just. never ones quite that big. But he'd started to get worried a few hours later when the hole began to leak pus, then some other, brown liquid. A smelly, rotten, brown liquid.

When he'd rolled up his pant leg, the sting had been a horrific, mottled green and brown color, gangrene bruised. He'd nearly panicked looking at the necrotized flesh, certain he was infected with whatever had turned the people in this mansion into monsters.

After vomiting whatever was left of his dinner, he'd rushed back to the small medical supplies room he'd left Rebecca in, nearly babbling with how quickly he was trying to explain what had happened.

Now, here he was, Rebecca with a scalpel in hand, and not even a smidge of local anesthetic or a swig of whiskey to help smooth over the utter panic of seeing worms, tiny, white, segmented worms, burrowing in and out of the dead skin gouge in his leg.

He could hardly breath. This wasn't happening.

Rebecca made a concerned face, hesitating like she wasn't entirely sure what to do.

"Alright. Parasatoid wasps. Interesting."

Chris tore his eyes away from the still seeping, wriggling, stinking wound, looking desperately at Rebecca, trying to hold onto some shred of sanity. And because he felt if he kept looking at his leg he might pass out. Or vomit again. Or both.

"A What?" He asked, before he really thought through if he wanted to know or not.

Rebecca grabbed some other surgery tool, one that looked like very tiny tongs, and Chris could feel her start to pull away the dead skin to get a better look at the worms. "A parasatoid wasp. It's a sub category of wasps that lay their eggs in a host. The larvae then kill and eat the host. If it's a local species, it might be a cicada killer. The wasp normally paralyzes the host first, though.... You might have been too big for the venom to work on."

Chris swallowed, looking up at the dingy popcorn ceiling as Rebecca continued working to remove the fucking worms in his leg. "Lucky me."

[kpopnstarwars]

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: ty taylor swift i attempted to base this fic on your song but then i divulged as normal

tw: 18+, smut, p in v, inkpie, oral (both recieving), sub feyd by which i mean feyd is DOMMED, spit, degradation + praise, one spank kinda, swearing, lil bit of crying, mention of evil baron activities so sa + pedophilia, tiny mention of cheating but none actually happens, lmk if there's anything else bc lbr there probably is i just forgot it

wc: 3.9k

Feyd-Rautha has gravely underestimated you.

It is true that you are not strong in terms of Harkonnen definitions, but you expected a man destined to father the Kwisatz Haderach to be able to see past that. What was that the Bene Gesserit were saying about superior genetics? You don’t see even a glimpse of that in his frosty gaze when he regards you - he looks at you as if you’re a delicate vase that may shatter in the lightest of breezes. He thinks he needs to fear breaking you.

He misses how you miss nothing.

You are not Bene Gesserit; you are merely one of their pawns, a genetic machination produced from centuries of manipulations and deceptions, but you can read a man better than the majority of their number.

The seething jealousy in the clenching off Glossu Rabban’s fists is like a monster sinking its venom laced fangs into his heart: starkly evident to you - as evident as the barely repressed, parasitic fear of inadequacy that lurks like a second beast within the first. Just the same, the gazes the Baron sends your husband do not escape you. Nor does the caged, wild look that washes over him whenever you leave his uncle’s chambers: the look of a man who inside is still a boy, relief washing over him that he has left unscathed and untouched for another time.

Even more nuanced than that, you see the vulnerability within Feyd-Rautha. He craves to be loved, the way he should have been as a child, when instead he was desired; all this at an age where the most he should have been doing was playing with carved wooden toys at his parent’s feet.

He believes no one can see the last, soft sliver of his heart that he’s fought to preserve, that wants nothing but to have someone to be vulnerable with, just because he’s buried it so deep inside of him that sometimes even he doesn’t think it’s there any more.

But you see it.

You see beneath it too, to a place that he himself is not fully aware of. A place where he hates who he has become - a wild, savage creature, bleeding from wounds that do not seem to close up, slipping in its own blood when no one can see.

It’s from here, from this place, that the urge to preserve you somehow originates. He thinks you are a flower whose petals will easily be crushed in his heavy, calloused hands, and he is wrong; in a strange way it endears you to him, that he believes that he is too rough to hold you. You do not think it is quite love - not yet, at least, it is only the third month of your marriage - but when you see him fighting to not be the beast that he is before you in an effort to spare you, something that is not just pity stirs in your heart.

You can hear him now, pacing, cursing under his breath in the antechambers. Sometimes he sleeps there, on the narrow sofa, and you’ve come to realise it is those nights when he wants you most. Aside from your wedding night, he has made no other attempts to produce an heir, and you find his restraint valiant, but stupid.

He could try as hard as he liked; he would not get anywhere close to breaking you.

Rising from your seat on the small, ornate stool at the vanity, you push open the door to the antechamber and take a step into the room. Feyd pauses his pacing with his back to you, and you can see the tension in his shoulders and the rigid way he holds his body before he turns around to face you. His pupils are dilated, his eyes dark, and you watch him regard you with something too untethered to be restraint.

‘Am I keeping you awake, wife?’

You shake your head. ‘I had not retired yet.’

You know he expects you to explain why you’ve interrupted him, but you remain quiet - your silence is as much of a tool as your words. He doesn’t speak either, but his eyes tell you enough; they do not leave your frame, hungry, torrid, and his fingers twitch as if they ache to slip you out of the simple shift you wear to sleep and touch you everywhere, to explore the curves and dips of your body.

Tilting your head, you smirk. ‘If you wish to give me your heirs, husband, I would advise another method that differs from staring one into me.’

‘You don’t know what I want,’ he growls, but his face tells other tales.

Stepping forward, you reach out to him but he backs away. Still, the sheer thirst in his eyes sears away at you, even as his actions fight against it, his fingers closing on the doorknob. His hands are steady, his shoulders too, but the tightness in his muscles betrays him as always. Usually, you’d let him go now, but tonight you wish to see how far he will let you push him before he pushes back, so you snare his forearm in your fingers, tugging at him as he turns the knob.

He doesn’t look at you. ‘Don’t test me.’

You smile, cloyingly so. ‘Why not?’

Lightly, you trace your fingers down his chest, straightening the fabric of his black shirt while you gaze thoughtfully up at him through your lashes, lips curving upwards at the indecision in his eyes. He fights it, wrestles with the burning need, but in the end, he prevails, transforming it into a streak of anger that colours his voice as he tears himself from your grasp, recoiling as if your touch ignites pain within him - and maybe it is pain, that he wants you so but fears to indulge himself.

‘Get away from me.’

Feyd-Rautha does not give you a second to do so, because he is the one haring down the dimly lit corridor, his jaw tight, nails digging into his palms. Truthfully, you have never seen him move that fast, not even in the arena, and it almost makes you laugh - the great na-Baron fleeing from his wife and his own lecherous thoughts.

Maybe you did not win this round of tug of war, but he has asked something of you - to get away from him. Over the next few weeks, you follow this to the letter, avoiding him like the plague; you do not interrupt his pacing in the antechambers, nor do you haunt the bedroom like you normally do, asking him questions that he cannot answer. Feyd-Rautha is sensitive to change and you know he will seek the reason for it.

There is a barely cloaked intensity in his eyes when he finally corners you, and under it, you detect recognition: he sees that you are not who he thought you were, and he sees that you are not so different from him - always observing, always planning, and so, mind shatteringly hungry.

You were just dropping by the bed chambers to gather some of your clothes. The night before, you’d relocated yourself to one of the guest bedrooms - you could sense Feyd’s resolve cracking, and you knew that this would break it for certain: coming into his chambers to find them empty, wifeless, your side of the bed damningly cold. Jealousy is clear in his eyes as he backs you against the vanity, filling you with a rising sense of triumph.

‘What has caused this change in your behaviour, wife?’

You raise a brow, faking confusion. ‘What change? I would argue it is your behaviour that has changed, Feyd, you who can barely stand to be in a room alone with me.’

He snarls. ‘Who were you with last night?’

‘I thought you wanted me to get away from you,’ you reply, keeping up your pretence a little longer. ‘I slept in the guest quarters. You do not reciprocate any of my advances.’

‘Advances?’ He echoes, incredulous. ‘You taunt me, wife. It’s like you want me to break you.’

Cocking your head, you regard him coolly for a moment, letting some of the sharpness of your unmasked gaze leak through, letting him see the calculation in your eyes - you see the wariness it incites in him as he realises again that you are not who he thinks you are. Wordless, you lean in close to him, bringing your face to his, hovering there.

And then you let your arm drop and make a swipe for the knife at his belt.

Fast as a viper, he catches your wrist in your fingers, but you smile, challenge in your eyes as you bring his second blade to his neck. You’d slipped it out while he was distracted with your other hand, and he blinks at the cold press of it to his skin.

‘That’s the problem, isn’t it?’ You murmur. ‘You’re not scared of me, you’re scared of breaking me. Who’s afraid of little old me, huh? No one is, Feyd.’

‘They should be,’ he whispers, and when you meet his gaze, it sets you alight.

‘Indeed,’ you reply softly, letting your lower lip brush his.

As he kisses you, his hands seizing your face and locking you to him, you hook his knife’s blade in the collar of his shirt and drag it down, slicing the fabric until it flutters to the floor. Pulling away, you take him in - the moonlight planes of his sculpted chest, the broadness of his shoulders, his roiling, keen gaze. This man whets your appetite in the darkest kinds of ways: you cannot wait to ruin him.

Absently, you trace the outline of the tent in his pants with the tip of the knife blade. A breathy noise leaves him, and he freezes as if he can feel the cold kiss of the metal against his skin; you laugh, delighted that he is so mouldable in your hands.

‘Get on your knees,’ you command, seating yourself on the end of the bed.

It’s captivating, his lack of hesitation as he follows your orders. He sits back on his heels, looking up at you, and you can tell that he’s letting you see him like this, you can tell that if he didn’t want you to have him like this, you wouldn’t, but still, you reach out, gently skimming his shoulder with your fingertips.

‘All you have to do is say, and I will stop,’ you say.

He dips his chin. ‘I do not think I’ll have to.’

You smirk, something savage and powerful and thrillingly depraved rearing its head inside you, awakened by the sight of the na-Baron kneeling at your feet. That will be his last coherent sentence tonight.

Pausing, making him wait, you lean down a little, inspecting his features, the ardour in his eyes. He looks at you as if you hold the universe in your hands, as if you hung the stars in his sky, as if you are a  goddess, and he wants nothing but to worship you until he is expended.

You spit on him.

It lands on his cheek, and his eyes widen a fraction. A shudder wracks his body, and he simply stares up at you, breathing heavy, before slowly, his lips part, and he sticks out his tongue, his request evident. You grab his jaw, squeezing so that he opens up wider, and spit in his mouth - the low groan that leaves him as he swallows is fucking delectable.

His cock twitches in his pants when you pick up the knife. Tracing the blade over the shell of his ear, over his cheekbone and over his lips, you marvel at the way he holds still, awaiting what you’ll inflict on him next like a good little toy.

When the metal reaches his jaw, you nick the skin, drinking up his sharp intake of breath and the clench of his fists as the blood trickles down the column of his throat; you catch the droplet of crimson on your tongue, licking a careful stripe up his neck, grinning when you catch his lips in a kiss and he trembles at the taste of his own blood. Feyd is greedy, his tongue brushing against yours as he leans up into your touch, the way his mouth works against yours hot, fervent, pleading.

Planting a palm to his sternum, you push him back, chuckling when he strains to follow you, eyes glazed, lips swollen. You spot a streak of red and swipe your thumb over his lower lip, wiping it off before standing.

‘Get up, strip, and get on the bed,’ you bid him, pulling your own shift over your head.

Feyd scrambles to follow your orders, yanking his pants down, and you take your time to admire his muscle sheathed body; strength ripples beneath his skin, a sweet dichotomy to his weeping cock, rock hard and flushed rosy. He halts his movements, as if he’s pinned down by your appraising gaze.

‘For whom do you wait, husband?’

As he turns to get onto the bed, he’s a little too slow and you swat at his ass. A choked sound leaves him, and you laugh at the way his knees almost buckle. Feyd’s ears run red when he lies down on the mattress, and you straddle his thighs, sneering at the way he twists his fingers in the sheets, squirming beneath you.

‘Pathetic.’

You don’t give him time to respond, instead wrapping your fingers around his cock and pumping up and down fast, and he gasps at your rough touch, his back arching and his hands coming up to touch you - you wave them off you, meeting his eyes.

‘No touching,’ you intone, the hint of warning in your voice enough to render him obedient.

This time, you take his cock head in your mouth. He’s so fucking sensitive, reacting as if the sweep of your thumb down the underside of him and the slide of your tongue over him is mind shattering; it doesn’t take you long to get him teetering at the edge of his orgasm, just for you to pull away at the last moment.

His thigh jolts, weak pleas of your name leaving his lips, gripping the sheets so hard you wonder if they’ll rip. Again, you take him in your mouth, deeper, one hand dipping to play with his balls; you revel in the wretched sound that he makes when you hollow your cheeks around him, your teeth grazing up his length. You toy with him until you think he’s moments from breaking, until he’s writhing upon the sheets, face contorted in pleasure loaded with sweet, sweet agony.

‘Please let me come,’ he whimpers, voice cracking, the look in his eyes crazed, pitiful. ‘Please.’

You decide to give it to him, jerking him brutally fast until he comes; it hits him like a tidal wave - his eyes roll back in his skull, his body tensing, rigid and impossibly taut before he goes boneless, a broken cry of your name on his lips as he spills all over his stomach. A single, ecstatic tear slides down his cheek as his orgasm seizes him, snatching him up and shaking him like a ragdoll.

Lingering at his side, you wait until he’s come down from his high before getting up to retrieve a damp cloth from the bathroom, perching on the bed beside him and cleaning up his come, pressing kisses to the surprisingly soft skin of his hips. One wavering hand comes to rest in your hair, and you glance up at him, biting back a smug grin at the dazed look in his eyes.

‘Feeling okay?’

He nods.

‘Words,’ you chide.

‘Y - yes, na-Baroness. Better than okay.’

You raise a brow at that. You did not specify for him to call  you anything, so this is all his doing; he fidgets beneath your gaze, and you note that he’s growing hard again, his cock stiffening between his thighs.

‘Can I…’ He begins, but trails off, thinking better of it.

‘No, little na-Baron,’ you reply coyly. ‘Tell me what you desire.’

His eyes scorch you with their yearning. ‘I want to taste you, na-Baroness.’

You smile. ‘As you wish.’

You lean back against the pillows, letting your legs fall open for him. It’s somewhat comical, the way his eyes widen as he sees your slick cunt, and he swallows harshly - you can almost sense his mouth watering. Carefully, reverently, almost, he nudges your knees over his wide shoulders, bringing his face close to your pussy, admiring you. It’s as if he’s testing himself, waiting to see how long it takes for him to break and taste you.

Lurching forward, Feyd groans, low and deep and right against your clit when he laps at your heat, quickly becoming insatiable as his tongue moves masterfully at the apex of your legs, laving over your clit and curving in and out of you. Bolts of pleasure spear through your body, fierce like crackling lightning at the eye of a storm - he is everything to you in this moment. He shatters you, breaking you and mending you anew.

As he brings you closer, your body begins to shake and your legs close around his head; you suffocate him with your thighs, and you can tell he lives for it from the way he fervently grips your ass in his large hands, kneading the flesh and moaning into your pussy.

Something pulls tight within you, deliciously so, and you cry his name in warning, fingers curling around the base of his neck to hold him still as your hips buck, rutting into his face. Dimly, you can see him grinding into the mattress as you fuck yourself on his tongue - the chafe of his nose against your clit makes you shatter, and you fall apart for him with a ragged cry, nails digging into his shoulders.

You’re still coming down from it when Feyd begins to lap at you again, dutifully cleaning you up, and you twitch with the slight overstimulation, hooking a finger under his chin to see his eyes: his gaze is loaded with the heat of a thousand suns, and yet somehow it is also bleary, drunk. A laugh escapes you, and you tug at his hand, encouraging him to lie beside you.

‘Good boy,’ you hum as he nuzzles into your touch. You can feel him achingly hard against your thigh, and you let yourself catch your breath before reaching down and wrapping your fingers around his cock. ‘Want to fuck me now, hm?’

He nods avidly. ‘Yes, na-Baroness.’

All it takes is for you to half spread your legs before he’s climbing eagerly between them, hesitating before looking up at you for permission. You dip your chin, smirking, and then he’s sinking into you, burying himself inside you.

Voice cracking, Feyd chokes out your name, and he shudders, gasping at the velvet vice of your cunt as it clenches, bearing down on him. Sharply, you rock your hips up to meet his, and this time, a soft, keening whine leaves him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting down hard on his lower lip.

He can barely keep himself from spilling inside you.

‘You can barely hold it, can’t you, my little na-Baron?’

His words come out jumbled, his speech scrambled, mind ground to a standstill by the all consuming heat of your cunt; he babbles out protests, saying that he can, desperate to prove he can, stammering that he wants to make you feel good.

Cruelly, you buck your hips up against his again, and a pained sound looses from his chest, but he thrusts to meet you, hips lurching forward, his arms almost buckling either side of your head. Panting, he pulls out slowly before slamming back in, unable to stifle the whimper that tears from the back of his throat when you rake your nails down his shoulder blades, claiming him, littering his shoulders and neck with bites.

‘That’s it,’ you sigh as he finds his pace. ‘Just like that, good boy.’

A strangled noise tears itself from him at your praise, and he fucks into you, frantic, almost feral. Eventually, his thrusts begin to turn sloppy, and you kiss him in order to steal his breath and taste his fervid moans of your name on your tongue as he comes deep inside you.

Pressing a palm to his lower back, you pin him there, buried snugly within your pussy as you reach down with your other hand and rub your clit hard - it takes but a moment for you to come, and he writhes at the cataclysmic feel of your walls fluttering around him, overstimulating him, his mouth falling open in a silent cry as he comes again with your cunt milking his cock.

Completely spent, Feyd goes limp, and you rub your hand over his back, smoothing circles on his skin with your lips to his forehead. The post orgasm clarity begins to hit him, and you feel him go rigid - slowly, he pulls out, his seed leaking out now that he’s not filling you, and he attempts to get up, but his legs are too weak and he collapses beside you instead, his chest heaving, his eyes still a little hazy, still fucked out, even as he fights for lucidity.

There’s something on his face that cuts at your heart - a look of expectancy, as if he’s waiting for you to get up and leave now that you’ve had your fill of him. Concerned, you reach out, and he leans away from your touch.

‘Feyd,’ you murmur. ‘It was not too much, was it?’

‘N - no,’ he replies. ‘I just…’

Sitting up slowly, you look him right in the eyes. He stares back, bewildered, but you press a finger to his lips, foregoing your own fumbling words to instead recite the pledge of allegiance of a Harkonnen soldier to their general; his eyes widen - you know you have hit home. You’d exchanged wedding vows, of course, but these have a different meaning: you see it in the respectful way it is uttered, a soldier acknowledging his superior’s presence.

You pledge to him not only your heart, but your sword - your service - too.

‘Wife,’ Feyd bites out. ‘Surely you do not mean - ’

‘I mean it,’ you cut in. ‘Every word.’

Again, you reach for him, and this time he does not flinch away, letting you tuck him close to you, his breath coming out shaky. Gently, you tip up his chin, planting a chaste kiss on his parted lips, and he returns it slowly, wondrously, no teeth or tongue, just the gentle brush of his mouth against yours: the innocence of it is bittersweet - has anyone ever kissed him this tenderly?

Carefully, you withdraw, wanting to see him, but he does not let you meet his eyes, instead hiding his face in your neck, his lips at the hollow of your throat. You grant him the privacy of not being seen when you feel wetness on your skin, his hot tears tracking down and pooling in your collarbone - his hands ball at his sides, and you pry open his fingers and lace yours with his, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Tightly, you wrap your arms around him, holding him with a hand cupping the back of his head, cradling him to your chest.

Your voice is quiet in the still air, but it carries as if through an arena, a promise arcing through the air like a soaring arrow.

‘You no longer walk this world alone, Feyd-Rautha.’

best believe when i started writing this i did not anticipate the 2x 'good boy's 🧍

dune taglist: @callumsgirl @oh-you-mean-me @insufferablyunbearable

[ranticore]

bugs big ones from Thera! the transcript for the top image is under the cut below.

There is a big lie in this which is that the caterpillar pictured in the top image is in fact Nettlerove who is a beetle of the species Cryptostenus oculatus. But he is a brood parasite of these caterpillars, and appears almost identical to one prior to pupation. They emerge as imagos earlier than the true butterflies around them, and then eat their defenceless colonymates. Life's rough for insects. i really wanted to draw baby (and young adult) Nettlerove sooo much so that's why it's him.

The Tithe tree is one of the reasons our bugs are so big. These trees are gigantic and their leaves are incredibly nutrient rich, and their huge hollow trunks are perfect for building colonies in. The social behaviour of these caterpillars is based off of Eriogaster lanestris, a moth which has eusocial silk-tent-spinning caterpillars :) Their true 'child' stage (instars 1 and 2) lasts a single spring and summer, while the subsequent instar stages last several years each. At pupation the individual can be up to 14 years old. The kids are basically left in their tent entirely unsupervised, and in fact it's an intentional strategy to have them on a lower branch than the main colony; any terrestrial predator looking for food will hopefully eat the kids first and leave the main colony alone (Life's ROUGH for insects!!).

Because the caterpillars are considered adults post instar 3, the winged form is not called "the adult" it's just the imago.

[Transcript: Neonymphalid Caterpillars

The life cycle of the eusocial caterpillars from the Theran butterfly family Neonymphalidae. At hatching they are roughly 13cm long, and at their largest they grow to be approx. 2m long.

They are considered to be adults at instar stage III. At this stage they enter the mature colony and begin to train into their life-long 'careers'. At instar stage IV they are close to pupating, and will make the trek out to their proving grounds for the final growth spurt as caterpillars. The quest is a difficult overland trek, often the first time any individual has touched the ground, and at its end is a forest that they must set ablaze to liberate the nutrient-rich fruit they need to eat. Eggs are deposited on a lower branch of the Tithe tree beneath the adult colony

Instar stage I: They hatch among peers and immediately form a juvenile colony on their host Tithe branch, a group of up to 100. Together they encase the branch and its leaves in a silken tent. At this stage they do not speak, they only eat.

Instar stage II: They begin to grow their distinguishing bristles but remain in their juvenile colony

Instar stage III: Not all caterpillars will reach this stage, as autumn draws in and the leaves become less numerous. Caterpillars who reach stage III will leave their silk tent and travel up the main trunk of the Tithe tree, entering the large, permanent structure of the adult colony. They now have a pair of more specialised binocular eyes.

Instar IV: They have begun to develop some of their adult facial features, including more complex eyes. This individual is a scribe, using a thorn to write on a wax slate in a frame.

Prior to their journey to the burning forest, a final molt occurs which increases the number of bristles. This will protect them from aerial attacks during the rough journey.

The pupa is laid out in a specialist chamber within the main colony once the caterpillars return home. They hatch when temperatures reach a summer range again.]

[spdrvyn]

https://youtu.be/VYFxeZQhe5Q

Cough cough miguel

Cough cough angst/fluff

⁠(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)

me gustas tu — MIGUEL O'HARA

☆ in where miguel finds himself hopelessly pining for you, he tries ever so hard to deny his feelings but it just seems like everything around him reminds him of you.

fluff. pining. hopeless romantic miguel. i'm so insane about him!!! whoever sent this request reveal yourself because i'm about to get you JOKE

Miguel wasn't in love with you. Not at all. Not in a million years.

His ego was severely wounded from the amount of times that he's been teased in conversations for having this supposed crush on you. Even in meetings, very serious and professional meetings, where tasks were distributed and stations assigned, the whole room of spiders would chitter whenever your name slipped from his mouth.

To make matters worse, you were well aware of this little charade that went on with your coworkers. Chipping into these mindless games, you sling an arm around Miguel's shoulder (somehow) and loudly proclaim that you were his lover.

How he loathed you for it, you stuck onto him like a parasite. Stalking behind him at headquarters and when he turns a corner, boo! You're there. You surprise him in the darkness of his office with a giddy smile, not even giving him the opportunity to kick you out before you hop onto his platform and ramble about how your day went.

Whenever you pushed his buttons, he'd push you away with a growl. It was infectious, your laugh echoes and bounces off the walls and he especially hates how you sometimes get him to laugh a little in turn.

He was just unable to escape you, whenever he left his spider-cave to get a snack from the cafeteria, he could catch you sitting at a table with a bunch of other Spider-People. Laughing, giggling as you dished out jokes like a chef on a line, and whenever you caught him, you'd call him over to say hello and which he'd always reply to get back to work otherwise leave.

Not to mention that you were all the gossip too, people would acclaim you for your impressive displays of strength and cleverness during missions and which Miguel would always walk the other way before his cheeks got too red.

Even in the sanctity of his own home, he wasn't safe. After making himself a cup of coffee, he'd get a peek of the cityscape before him and watch idly as the sun rises over the skyscrapers and buildings. It's radiance shone on whatever it could find, making everything in Miguel's apartment look a pretty golden including himself. To which Miguel would occassionally close the blinds and plunge himself in the gloom once more.

It only really caused him to despise you even more, he couldn't catch a moment of peace when a piece of you was bursting from every corner. Your tenacity, your energy, your preciousness, it was the breeze in the air and the blood in his veins. He hated it.

He hated you.

By this point, he'd run out of words to describe you. There were only so many words in the dictionary yet an endless amount of your spark.

You weakened him, you truly did. His subtlety was passable at most before, but the moment that you entered his life, it was like you reset all of his stats back to zero. Whenever you came striding in now, the littlest details on his face gave him away, the smallest of grins tugging at his lips, the slight relaxation of his brows, and the slacking of his shoulders.

Not to forget Lyla either, the moment you left the room, she'd be pulling up monitor after monitor of how alarmingly high his heart rate is going that he has to chase after her like moth to a flame.

As he slept at night, when he was able to sleep anyway, he knew that she was right. That everyone was right. No matter how hard he pouts, no matter how long he stood still in his chambers all day, the way his heart sang for you was all too much.

He knew he couldn't take it much longer, he could barely stand being in your presence. Each day he's tempted by the melodious sound of your voice, to just grab you by the shoulders, and skip the logic for once but he knows that he can't.

"Miguel," the sing-song sound of Lyla's voice breaks through the eerie silence of the room like hammer to glass. "You've got a priority call."

He practically sags against his desk, his coffee growing cold each passing second. He turns to her, squinting at the brightness of her hologramic body. God, it was too early for this.

"Who is it?"

Lyla doesn't say anything, her cheeky smirk creeps Miguel out for a bit before another screen pops up before his very eyes and he sees your contact vibrating with the options to accept or decline.

No unhealthy amount of caffeine could have energized Miguel as much as right now, he straightens his posture (for once), looking into the reflection of one of his monitors before smoothing his ruffled hair over with his palm. Lyla all but giggles at it.

His talons almost scrape the screen as he presses the accept button, trying to bring his expression to something more down to earth. He was cool, he was fine, he was okay.

Once the feed opens up, the camera isn't even focused on you. Instead on the crook of your shoulder as it shakes violently, judging from the way the wind blows into the microphone, you're in the middle of a scuffle right now.

"Hi, vamps!" Your voice is barely comprehensible among the sounds of monstrous roaring and debris falling, he's about to scold you for being so reckless during a fight but he finds it hard to do so. He just resorts to scowling at you through the camera.

"You know there's always time to contact me after your duties, I'll still be here." That's a lie. He knows damn well that at any given moment, the gates of hell will break lose and he'll have to put out all the fires, but he'll make time for you. Like he always does.

"Jeez, glad to know that you're so excited to me." you grunt, before delivering another punch to whatever beast you're fighting. Miguel has to fight back the amazement that seeps into the muscles in his face when he doesn't hear any more roaring, all from one blow.

"I'm just really excited, okay? I have something for you, I'll be in HQ in five." you beam at him, but the call comes to an abrupt end and Miguel is left pouty once more.

However, you're not the type to go back on your word and it gives him even more reason to be attracted to you when you come striding into his office with your hands behind your back. You're scheming.

He doesn't lower his platform for you, there's no point because you'd just go swinging up anyway and that you do. A long strand of your webbing sticks to the ceiling as you pull yourself up, you tip over the edge a little and Miguel immediately moves to stabilize you with two hands on each side of your waist.

"Careful," He doesn't scold you this time either. When he says it, it's not to reprimand you. He says it as if you're an art display, the magnum opus of someone's fruitful work that he adores. His touch lingers for a moment before he backs off and takes a step back.

"Sorry, post-battle adrenaline is still doing its thing." You chuckle, your smile really is contagious. "Anyway, are you excited for my gift?"

"If it's a gun to end my misery then I'm absolutely ecstatic for it," Miguel scoffs, his fingers go for his holographic to pretend that he's actually doing something and definitely not admiring your voice.

"Don't be like that, vamps. I promise it's good," You slide over to him still keeping your hands behind your back as your smile widens. "I just need you to close your eyes for me."

"If you actually did bring a gun, I swear to god, I'm going to—"

You shake your head frantically, trying to stifle your thunderous laughter. "No, no! It's totally innocent, I swear."

All he really does is look at you for a few moments, even tilting to the side a little to see if he could get the slightest peek of what you're holding but you don't allow him that. He rolls his eyes and relents. "Fine, don't do anything destructive please."

He's lucky he closes his eyes before he gets to see you smile, it's hazardous, bright enough to blind him as you clap your hands softly before taking a step closer to him.

Gently, you reach for his forearm, fingers brushing lightly against his wrist and he wants to shiver. Like he did earlier, your touch stays for a while, burning into his skin and it'll keep him up at night later. He'll think about what he could've done, how badly he wanted to touch you back.

"You can open them again," Angelic. He wants to say. You could tell him to jump off a cliff and he'd listen but opening his eyes would do.

His gaze flickers down to his wrist where it's lined with beads, red and blue. Not just the classic Spider-Man red and blue, his red and blue. He turns the bracelet a little and there's lettered beads that spell out his name too, he doesn't know what to say.

You hold your wrist next to his, you have the exact same bracelet, but it's your colors and your name. "Now, we match. I impulsively bought a bracelet making kit last weekend and it just arrived last night."

Which meant that you were up with the moon fully out, bruising your fingers over making a bracelet. For him. His bracelet.

You tilt your head to the side, "Earth 928 to Miguel?"

"Don't keep your hopes up, this thing might break in a week."

"Ah, there he is."

You cross your arms over your chest, mimicking the frown that trademarks his face. "So I don't get a thank you for making you such a beautifully handcrafted gift? With beads from trees I planted and chopped down myself? Miguel, you have no manners."

It takes him a moment. Maybe two. He keeps switching between the accessory and then you, the accessory and then you. How could he think? Let alone speak right now?

"... Thank you." was all he could pathetically muster, letting his hand drop to his side as his eyes shifted around the room uncomfortably.

"You're welcome, vamps. Besides if your bracelet breaks, I ordered a shit ton of beads. Just ask, okay?" You don't say it like how you usally do, teasing and confident. It's gentle and reassuring and Miguel knows that he doesn't deserve it but he can't help but be selfish.

He gives you a curt nod and the both of you stand in silence for a few seconds before you cut in saying that brooding wasn't really your style, you leave his place once more but not the place in his mind. You will never leave the place in his mind.

Lyla pops up, above the screen of his gizmo where she coos. "You know I'd ask if they could make me one too but this kinda feels like a Miguel exclusive, don't you think?"

"Yeah," he huffs dejectedly, twiddling the beads between his fingers. His screens long discarded, enabling your role as workplace disturbance again.

"It is."

[moongreenlight]

More on Soap and his f!demon!reader because you guys forced me like oooookay I get it you’re horny on main

Just kidding everything I do is for you. All you have to do is vaguely imply that you want something and I’m all over it baby anything you need.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Johnny’s demon who follows him everywhere after his first kill. Bound to him the moment the bullet left his chamber. A partnership of sorts. Cast into the pits and valleys of his soul. Gifted to him in the few intimate moments where the deafening blast of his rifle slowed time. Kept a secret even from him. A partnership between this world and the next. Quite literally a give and take. You sworn to him so long as he kept up his end of the bargain. Kill or be killed.

You stayed concealed in shadows for years. Flitting from corner to corner to make sure you always had an eye on him. Silently coaching him through little whispers carried to his ears on the wind. Watching him grow as a soldier under your care. Honing and refining his skill as you saw fit. Leaning your chin just over his shoulder during missions. Voice leading him through to victory like siren song.

Protecting him when it was necessary. Wrapping your big wings around him to shield him from an onslaught of bullets. Leaving his side only for a moment to gore a sniper with their sights on him with your blackbuck horns. Curling your fingers around his to force the trigger of his pistol back if he hesitated and put himself in danger.

It was a bit dirty in principle. Like forging his signature on the deed that signed his soul over to the devil, but he didn’t seem to mind. The cost of invincibility coming at a relatively low price all things considered. The only drawback was his ego. Sizable before, now bloated into something almost grotesque. Cocksure and arrogant but not without his charms.

Not to mention, you’d almost taken a liking to Johnny in your time together. Like a parasite slowly becoming fond of their host. He keeps you fed. Bringing you with him to the field, letting you gorge yourself on blood and carnage and pain until all you can do is drape yourself over his broad shoulders and lazily flick your magic around when it’s required. And he’s decently entertaining for a mortal. Has to be the best company you’ve been forced to keep in at least a few hundred years.

Though you found yourself getting increasingly irritated each time he came home from a mission and thanked God of all people. Letting him pick up a few more scrapes and bruises than you usually would on his missions after that whole bit started. Each murmured ‘Thank you’ making you hiss and howl down at him from your perch in the shadows. Wanting to show him just who he should be thanking for his survival.

Tired of his baseless belief and wanting to teach him a lesson on saying thank you; you revealed your human form to him during midnight mass on Christmas Day. Can’t say you didn’t have a sense of humor.

You sat alone in the pews. Feeling when he entered the church minutes after you. Skin erupting into goosebumps, hair standing on end, a heat starting under your skin like you’d been dropped into a pot of water being slowly brought to a boil. You watched from the corner of your eye as he and his family slowly made their way down the rows of pews, finding yours was the only one with enough room to hold the lot of them together. It all seemed too perfect when you and Johnny ended up knee-to-knee.

You felt his energy shift. He could feel you as much as you could feel him, but the sensation was foreign to him. The same discomfort you’d been plunged into when you took your human form. Trying to cooly fold the sleeves of his dress shirt up at his elbows and seem attentive to his mother who was harping on him about his hair up until the moment the priest stepped to the pulpit.

You didn’t get a chance at him until the congregation was finally prompted to greet one another. Some love your neighbor nonsense.

Johnny turned to you immediately. Standing from his pew with the rest of the crowd. Unable to sit still in such discomfort. His skin hot as yours. Buzzing just under the surface like he was inches away from a live wire.

You blinked up at him through thick lashes, wetting your lips with a flick of your tongue before pushing to your feet. Letting him shift his weight for a few more moments as you looked him over.

Standing in front of him, he dwarfed you. Always had- but especially now when you didn’t have your wings or horns to compensate. Not the tallest in the room, but carried himself like he was. Chest puffed out, arms subtly flexed by his sides, dress shirt hugging his muscled form just right.

He stuck a hand out. Brow cocked as he sized you up with glittering blue eyes.

“Peace be with you.”

He spoke first. You fitted your hand in his. Barely blinking when the meeting of your skin elicited something like a static shock. Relieving both of you from your discomfort.

“And with your spirit.”

You responded through a coy smile. He looked reluctant to take his arm back. The shock hadn’t deterred him. Instead he wrapped his fingers all the way around your hand, hanging on to you for a beat longer than was necessary.

“Alone on Christmas?”

He still didn’t let go of your hand. A sharp smile. Almost predatory.

“Nobody to spend it with.”

You shrugged, still gazing up at him with big doe eyes. Finally allowing your hand to drop from his and immediately feeling pins and needles in the absence of his touch.

“Don’t believe that for a minute.”

You caught his knee inching toward yours on more than one occasion as the mass carried on. Like he was testing the waters to see if you were truly the reprive he was seeking. Fidgeting slightly where he sat. Teeth clicking softly as he ground them. Cracking his knuckles. Clenching and unclenching his jaw. Shifting his hips slightly forward on the bench. To his credit, he showed an impressive amount of restraint. Never touching you. Not that it would have done much through his trousers.

The one true pitfall of your being bound to his soul. Forgotten until now in its seeming insignificance. It was near agony for the both of you when you took human form. Like your life force being torn in two and dangled temptingly close but just out of arm’s reach. A kind of pain that didn’t need to land blows on either of your physicalities. Felt divinely through each you. Not used to being separated, you had an almost instinctual need to be together. You’d known beforehand and he seemed to be picking up on it quickly. Skin needed to touch skin in order to provide either one of you any relief. Give both of your spirits space to knit themselves back together.

For being so tightly braided in the fibers of his being, you found it almost shocking that you hadn’t noticed how desperate he could be when he was looking for release. Body tense in his increased discomfort. No doubt grappling with the effects of your separation. Sweat beading at the back of his neck. Tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. Bouncing his knee. Looking up toward the rafters before fixing his gaze on you in an attempt to pass it off as a sweep of the room. The way he brushed your arm reaching over you for a bible nestled in a pocket just in front of you. Making contact with your exposed skin for a fraction of a second and nearly whining when the both of you felt your unease settle for a fleeting moment.

Trying to push up against you when you were down on the kneelers, murmuring a clipped apology each time. Still somehow finding time to rake his eyes over you. Nails digging little half-moons into the back of his hands where they were clasped in prayer.

On the tail end of the service, communion was given. You followed behind Johnny and his family. Just behind him like you had so many times before. His normal prowl substituted for a more casual saunter. Subduing his ego for something a bit more reserved in the presence of not only his family but also the good lord. Nodding his thanks as he took his bread and wine. You had to fight back the distasteful curl of your lip at the motion. Even now he was thanking God.

You saw the way he tried to casually turn his gaze back to you when you stepped up to take your Eucharist. Tongue laid out flat and long, head tipped back a few degrees. Intentionally pornographic in your acceptance of the wafer. Nearly tripping over his feet when he caught you staring straight back to him. You made a show of pulling your tongue back into your mouth, your best attempt at a demure smile curving your lips.

He tailed you closely on your march out of the church. You lingering on the walkway. Seeing the way his eyes flicked back to you as he walked his parents to their car. Mother still going on about something or the other. He needed to visit more or he needed a proper haircut or he needed to call more. He cut her off with a kiss on the cheek before closing the car door. Shook his father’s hand. And as expected, crossed the parking lot quickly to get back to you. Grinning wolfishly as he saw you stood with your winter coat folded neatly over your arms pretending to look around for who knew what.

“Still alone, are we?”

He queried, standing in front of you, folding his arms over his chest. You didn’t miss the way he flexed just barely, making the dress shirt bite into his bicep.

“You worried about me?”

You cocked your head slightly to the side, chewing the inside of your lip to dilute the smile threatening to curl your lips.

“Ken I oughta be, pretty lass like you.”

He chuckled softly, blue eyes glittering under the warm glow of the lights outside the church.

“Aren’t you sweet.”

You deadpanned.

“You’ve got no idea.”

He’s used to getting what he wants, that ego of his. And you’d made the mistake of not outlining exactly how quickly you’d play into his game beforehand. Mind now clouded from not being with him. Walls came crumbling down embarrassingly quick.

He’d somehow persuaded you to let him give you a lift back to his place. You making up some excuse about not being from the area, staying with a friend who must have fallen asleep instead of picking you up after church. Somehow allowed him to keep his hand fixed on the small of your back up two flights of stairs to his flat. Somehow wound up with a tumbler of whiskey in your hand, pushed onto the couch with Johnny sandwiching you against the arm.

Awfully smart for a mortal man. Figured out what it took to keep him comfortable and ran with it. His fingertips ghosting along the hem of your dress. Delighting in the goosebumps both of you got when he brushed your skin with his. The insatiable heat crackling within each of you dying down each time only to be fanned with a renewed fervor when he drew back. Eventually settling on not pulling away at all. Resting his hand on the top of your thigh, running the fabric of your dress between a few fingers. Careful to keep his palm flat against you. Infuriatingly comfortable with you seeing as you were a complete stranger to him. Chatting like the two of you were old friends. Flirting like you had done this time and time again.

He wasn’t one to beat around the bush. Couldn’t be arsed to play the fool and try and skirt around the subject. A dog after a bone, really. Practically drooling over you as you made idle chitchat. And the worst part was that it was working. You’d try to blame it on your addled state. Not in your right mind. Only you knew how flimsy those excuses were. Trying to curb his advances with little success. Trying to keep the ball in your court.

You were still looking to assign blame to something when he grabbed your hips and tugged you under him on the couch. Circumstance. Mindset. Whiskey. Church. God. You couldn’t even remember what the two of you had been talking about. Something insignificant. Very well could have been the weather. You had a feeling it didn’t really matter.

Hovering over you close enough to feel his feverish heat all over. His knee forcing its way between your legs like he felt some kind of right. Using his big paws, still clamped around your hips to grind you against his thigh. A sharp laugh when you tried to hide the soft mewls that bubbled up inside you.

You felt smaller than you had in eons. Not used to being jerked about. Reduced to something resembling a true human under Johnny’s touch. Not having been material for centuries would do that, you supposed. No room to think about the needs of your physical body if it’s something that’s been shelved until now. And- fuck. It’s like somehow your body had found room to store up thousands of years of repression. Bursting at the seams. Somehow, the heat in your belly rivaled that of being separated from him. A feeling that couldn’t be sated like your bloodlust. Like a hunger that could claw its way up out of you if left untreated.

He was grinning at you like the cat that ate the fucking canary. Properly giddy. Tickled with himself for snatching you up. You wanted to snap at him. Hiss and spit like you had when he’d thanked God instead of you after a mission. Remind him that he wasn’t the hero he thought he was because this was all part of your plan, but the words died in your throat.

“Jesus. Thought you’d be a good girl. Meetin’ you in a church and all.”

His voice wasn’t doing anything to help your case. Nearly sending you feral under him. Unable to help the wetness gathering at your sex. You tried to press your thighs together. To buck his hands off of you, but it only made him snap his teeth in your face. His fingers bit in just a touch harder, pressing you down into the couch.

“Thought you said you were sweet.”

You bit back, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Dinnae know s’what you wanted. Don’t seem like it.”

“Funny.”

You shot back, voice a bit more obviously breathless than you would have liked. He’d let go of your hips, leaving you to grind yourself against the muscle of his thigh that was pressed tightly against you. He looked down, watching the way you moved. Whining at the sight. You were much too lost in your mind to notice the small damp spot that was forming on the leg of his trousers. Rolling your hips lazily against him.

“You like funny? Cunt get this wet for any funny bastard that comes along?”

You couldn’t muffle the high keening sound that tore from your throat in time. His filthy words taking you by surprise. Blinking rapidly and making a vain effort to still your hips, but he was quick to the kill. Snorting a laugh and tugging you up off the couch. Bullying you down the short hallway and into his bedroom. Walking you backwards using his legs to guide you. Puffed-out chest knocking you in the direction he wanted, kicking at your feet if you were going to run into the wall or a corner. Herding you like some sort of farm dog. There was a nasty look in his eyes now that you weren’t touching anymore. Even a few seconds apart seemed too much.

He shoved you backward onto the bed, not giving you time to adjust the awkward angle at which you’d landed before he was knelt before you on the ground. Yanking you forward by the backs of your knees which caused your dress to bunch at your hips. Leaving your dripping sex exposed to him. The thin panties doing little to hide your arousal. You yipped softly, trying to twist away from him. Give yourself the high ground, but he wasn’t having it.

He wasn’t the light, arrogant, charming Johnny you’d seen before. Nor was he the dark, rough operator you’d seen him be on the field. This was something different entirely. He looked like a predator that had finally caught some elusive prey. A flash of his teeth through an infuriatingly smug smile. Eyes raking you over like he was about to tear into you. It made something deep within you coil tightly. The heat in your belly now at a roaring boil. Your plan long forgotten. Lost somewhere to swirl among the fog that took over your mind.

Given the animosity he was exuding, he took his sweet time warming you up. Kissing, nipping, sucking, licking his way up your legs. From knee to hip on both sides. Leaving small, dark marks on your skin. Marking his territory. Panting softly over your barely clothed cunt. You making your situation even worse when you twitched and mewled softly under him. Cheeks burning a deep scarlet.

It was entirely too much and somehow not enough. The visual of him knelt between your legs that were hanging off the bed. His artful way of touching you. Your thundering heartbeat and the blood rushing in your ears. It nearly pushed you over the edge without him even needing to touch you.

He was a dog pulling on a taught leash. Doing everything he could to restrain himself. His breathing was ragged. Eyes steely. Pupils blown out. Unable to look away from the damp spot on your panties. Humming his approval at the sight. Working his calloused fingers under the fabric and guiding them down your legs. His muscles were tense, impossibly so, threatening to burst the seams of his shirt. Swallowing hard when he finally got a look at your drooling pussy.

“Jesus, bonnie. Fuckin’ perfect.”

He shifted slightly on his knees. Cock pressing uncomfortably hard against his pants. The muscles in his jaw twitched slightly. Sat stilled for a moment with his hands at your thighs with a white-knuckle grip.

You whined. A choked sound. Trying to squirm out of his eyesight. A bit uncomfortable being ogled. This sent him back into action, strong hands yanking you back toward him. Snapping his teeth in your face in warning.

He then spent more time working you out. Like he had nothing else he’d rather be doing. His mouth hot and wet. Touching anywhere but your clit out of some torturous principle. Spreading you open with his thumbs. Lolling out his tongue and allowing drool to drip down off it and add to your gathering slick. Blowing cool air on you. Watching your every twitch and shake with lust-glazed eyes that somehow seemed more attentive than normal. Committing you to memory.

You were nearly in tears. He’d ruined your plan. Turned you from an all powerful being into some shivering, whimpering thing. Overstimulated without him needing to wreck you with an orgasm. Sweating and whining and yelping at his touch. Trying to tangle your fingers in his hair and jerk him closer, but he just swatted your hands away or sunk his teeth into the meat of your thigh to shut you up. Unable to be put off of his path even after you’d stooped well below your status and managed to ask nicely a few times.

And when he finally, fucking finally, showed you a bit of mercy; he only sunk one finger into you. Enough to make you let out a low, throaty growl, but not enough to satisfy you. He pumped in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. Biting his lip and panting as he watched the way your drooling cunt swallowed him so perfectly. You tried to roll your hips into him like you had on the couch. Tried to grind into his knuckles to give your swollen clit some friction, but he rewarded your efforts with a mean slap on the leg. It took you by surprise. Pain like that- physical pain- had been so rare that it made you cry out and jerk your head up to stare at him wide eyed and open mouthed.

“Yer gettin’ bratty. Take what I give you.”

He shrugged, still unable to tear his eyes away from where you were clenched around him. Though he didn’t bother hiding the smug smile he was sporting.

“N-not enough. More.”

You whined, tossing your head back onto the mattress.

“Hell of a way to say thank you.”

He chided, tutting his tongue softly.

“You’re out of your mind if-“

He put a quick stop to your impending tirade by stuffing you full with another finger. A soft squelching sound as he began to pump faster that sent you reeling. Unable to form a coherent thought, you were left to fall apart on his bed. Legs hanging lamely off the edge as he had his way with your cunt. Treating it like you weren’t even there. Cooing pure filthy words of admiration to your sweet cunt. Pinching around your clit for a moment before sliding back down to hold you open between the index and middle fingers of his free hand.

Fuck. So pretty. Look how she sucks me in, mm? Needy thing. Never been treated this good? Need‘ta get you ready, yeah? Bet she’ll be prettier all stretched out.

By this point, you were sobbing. Fat tears rolling down your cheeks and creating little stains on the comforter on either side of your head. Rolling down your neck. Something coiled so tightly under your belly that you were certain you would implode. Turn yourself inside out before he ever granted you release. Pained and overstimulated and under-stimulated all at once. Rendering you useless in doing anything other than moaning and fisting the sheets weakly in your hands.

He stayed like this for a few minutes, until he could tell that you were getting pushed to your breaking point. Working up his pace. Curling his fingers more and more. Letting his breath fan you. Still uttering filth like it was prayer. Fucking reverent. Slowly adding drops of water to a reservoir until the dam burst. It sent you careening over the edge when he finally wrapped his lips around your clit and gave a gentle suck. Lewd, wet noises coming from the both of you. It took all of a few seconds for you to reach your orgasm. Whatever had been furled tightly within you finally snapping and exploding outwards. Wiping your mind clean. Only allowing you to focus on your release. Walls clenching and spasming around his fingers that did not relent. Crying out and moaning and gasping much louder than you’d meant. Clapping a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself. Bucking your hips up into him and re-starting the entire process when your now hypersensitive clit grazed his teeth or tongue.

He stayed latched on to you for much longer than was appropriate. Lapping up as much of your spend as he could. Working his fingers into you well past the point of exhaustion. Keeping you spread open and on his view the entire way. Paying no mind to the way his knees began to object to his position or how tight his cock was pressed against his pants. Obsessed with the way your body reacted to him. Obsessed with your pleasure.

It felt like he was trying to make you come completely undone. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you were nothing but a puddle on the bed. He spared you no mercy when he finally pushed himself to his feet. Hands flying to his belt and tearing it off. Too impatient be bothered to shed his trousers completely, opting to tuck the waistband just under his heavy balls. Shucking your dress up over your head. Using the slick gathered on his hands to lubricate his cock before he started fucking into his hand.

His leaking tip bumped against your clit each time he thrusted forward, sending you spiraling. Seeing stars. And now that he was certain he’d gotten you to come, it seemed the only thing he could focus on was his own orgasm. Yanking off his dress shirt with one hand. Working his needy mouth across your chest, up your neck, over your jaw until finally he met your lips. Leaving a slick trail of spit in his wake. Meeting your mouth with such a desperation that your teeth bumped together. His tongue sloppily working it’s way past your lips and further into your mouth.

He continued to fuck into his hands, eyes rolling back each time he brushed against you. Hypersensitive by nature, amplified a thousand times by the throbbing hardness of his cock. Dipping into you just a centimeter at a time. Driving the both of you insane. The scalding heat of his skin pressed flush against yours. The taste of yourself still on his mouth and chin. Sweat on sweat. Your head spinning. Mind still clouded with blinding pleasure. You wanted to tear him to shreds. So frustrated with him and his effect on you. Ruining your plans. Like he’d taken a seam ripper to your edges and was pulling you apart without even needing to try.

He hummed something filthy that you couldn’t quite make out. Sound muffled by the blood thundering through your ears. Letting out something that resembled a scream when he finally sheathed his cock deep within your walls. No longer satisfied with the stimulation of his hand. Bottoming out on his first thrust. Finally slipping himself out of the collar that was choking him in his rabid attempt to bury himself in you. He gave you no time to adjust to his girth, and you found yourself truly connecting the dots as to why he was so insistent on stretching you out with his fingers and loosening you up with multiple orgasms.

Your back arching impossibly further up into him. His sweat-slick forehead pressed hard against yours. Noses bumping together as he set a punishing pace humping into you. His eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Groaning and whining about how good you felt around him. He was beating hard against your cervix. White-hot pain popped spots behind your eyes. Your body trying to adjust to the feeling of him buried so deep.

“Fuckin��� perfect. Takin’ me so good.”

His tone was stuck somewhere resembling a growl. Rumbling so low you swore you could feel it in in your chest. Teeth clenched. Huffing in sharp breaths as his hips slammed into yours repeatedly. All you could do was mewl and cry under him in response.

He reached his orgasm relatively quickly, burying impossibly deeper into you when he finally came. His face buried into the crook of your neck, teeth sunk into your collarbone. It irritated you that he didn’t think to ask if he should pull out. But that was yet another boundary he didn’t seem to care for. Like he knew there was no way you could deny him. Like he felt that same entitlement to any part of you that he wanted. And honestly- that thought rang dauntingly true.

He thrust lazily into you, riding out his high before collapsing down next to you. Still sporting that infuriatingly smug grin. Fucking glowing. Tugging you over into his big arms and wrapping them around you. Tucking you under his chin and suffocating you with his smell. Sex and whiskey and cologne and incense. You hated that it worked to calm your aching body and mind.

“Oughta keep you around.”

He mused, chuckling breathlessly over you.

You simply hummed your response. Sighing sharply and resigning to the fact that revealing yourself to him at all may have been a mistake. You were at his service indefinitely.

[savaalienfish]

Slankats

Slankats are a wide group of Sinedenian parasitic heliophytes, most often found in areas with particularly thick foam grass layers which they parasitize on. It is the main host for the most slankats, although there are some exceptions. This group of mixotrophs especially stands out from the rest, having a more animal-like appearance rather than the usual plant-like body plan. Some might confuse them with barnacles, due to their segmented tail and valved body with a feathery appendage. They are highly specialized for parasitic lifestyle, to the point that some of them cannot produce their own nutrients by photosynthesis at all.

General anatomy of slankats Their large bodies, despite their visual bulk, are actually very light and contain only a small number of tubular organs as well as a cavity for folding the stem into it. They attach to their hosts with the help of a scaly tail, at the end of which there is a spiked anchor with the bases of root organs on the sides. The roots of slankats are thin, long and highly branched, which allows them to absorb as many nutrients as possible from the foam grass. At the top of the body there is a gill plate, with the help of which slankats breathe. Next to it there is a hole, from which emerges a flexible stem with genital organs growing on it (whip-flowers and chains of fruits). The number of whips differs for different types of slankats (from 1 to 10). These whips carry female and male reproductive cells and unction similar to flowers on earth. When the whips are pollinated, after some time they wither away and in their place the fruits begin to grow, the number of which also varies. They can grow either in a chain or in a kind of bouquet. Slancat fruits carry from two to ten embryos, and the fruit also contains chambers of gas that allow the fruit to fly away on wind currents or float on the surface of the water during floods (depending on the species, breeding cycle and season). When the fruit gets carried away to a fitting place, embryos emerge by popping out of the husk of the froot and then borrow into their host by using their tails.

[partycatty]

dom bi han x dom reader?

no one wants to relinquish control

(English is not my first language)

wait this is so me fr

bi-han > give in

arguments, spars, and insults come to a head when you're alone with the grandmaster

warnings: mostly plot, ur both meanies, BI-HAN BOANURRRRRR 🚨 , short smut at the end

notes: shoutout to my pookie bear @doki-doki-imagines for fueling my insanity and giving me such yummy ideas about this <3

[ masterlist ]

• if there's one thing bi-han hated, it was someone who thought they were better than him. that, and your entire existence.

• not a day goes by where you wouldn't fight to the death for the lin kuei, but you just always felt the need to speak up and take charge where bi-han fails to meet your own expectations.

• who the hell do you think you are, trying to beat bi-han at his own job?! he's the grandmaster, you're a grunt, but you exude the confidence of a member with influence. this irks him beyond belief.

• "someone should put you in your place," he'd growl at you in frustration, grabbing a fistful of your shirt to hold you close. you're not afraid of him, though, and simply stare at him with a condescending unamusement that makes the veins in his forehead pop.

• "i'd like to see you try," you purr in response, holding eye contact to show there is not a single ounce of fear in your body. damn him for training his recruits to be so fearless.

• and try he does, pairing you with him when it comes to training. but the fight is so evenly matched, a tie is drawn almost every time. you're as strong as him, and your biggest advantage is that you fill him with so much rage his movements become sloppy and loses its calculated touch.

• when it is determined to be a tie, bi-han grunts out loudly and throws his ice weapon to the ground, making it shatter and dissipate. he storms off, leaving you feeling even more confident that you're a little parasite in his skin.

• a day rolls around where a mission is to be planned, and you stand alongside the brothers, insisting your opinion was just as valid as a higher up.

• "and so we strike along the south-" bi-han moves a figurine to the south side of the map, ready to further his debrief before you chime in.

• "the west had less guards," you interject, planting your index finger along the parchment. "if we enter through the west wing and make our way down south through the tunnels, we-"

• bi-han tries to talk over you. "if you'd use your eyes, you'd notice that the west wing is also the hardest to approach stealthily."

• "even so, grandmaster, that's not to say that the south side is equally as quiet, i presume? you said so yourself that the south is bordered by a cliff-"

• "will you shut your mouth and listen to me?"

• "will you come up with a better plan, then?" you smirk and lean against the table, enjoying your verbal sparring. bi-han, however, is fuming. kuai liang and tomas stand to the side, exchanging tiny smiles at the display.

• "easy, brother," kuai liang will step in, putting a hand on his shoulder. "perhaps it is best to approach the mission from multiple angles."

• bi-han shakes his brother's hand from his shoulder, scowling. he places an accusatory finger your way.

• "this brat has been nothing but a thorn in our sides," he growls, eyes fixated on you darkly. "why we invite their knowledge to our private meetings baffles me."

• "like i'm not the most useful person here?" you retort, putting your flat palm on your chest. "if you recall, grandmaster, it is i that led our army to battle the last few times, while you were busy groveling in your princess chambers. i step up where you can't. i deserve to have a say."

• bi-han turns around to leave, not before pivoting back and trying to throw a sharp, icy spear into your shoulder, one that you dodge as it lodges into the wall behind you. grumbling insults, he leaves from the conversation. maybe planning can happen another time?

• "that was incredible," smoke compliments. "nobody stands up to the grandmaster like that."

• "for good reason, tomas," kuai liang steps in. "he is our grandmaster. at times, it may just be best to follow his command, reader."

• "like hell," you reply, hands on your hips. "one of you should be grandmaster. would serve the clan good." all they can do is shrug neutrally, but one of them suggests to defuse his anger by following bi-han out. reluctantly, you follow the cold breeze until you lean against the door of his personal office.

• it was suspiciously tidy, and you wanted to make a jab at his lack of usage for his office, but the truth was likely that he preferred things orderly and simple. just like him, you snickered to yourself.

• "out," he commanded, his back to you yet he knew the sound of your loud, annoying footsteps.

• "not happening," you groan, eyeing him up from across the room. "what's your deal with me? honestly?"

• "where would i even begin?" he grumbles, fists clenching hard. "final time. out."

• you opened your mouth wide, replying with a firm, flat "no." you weren't really trying to act like some kind of brat to him, you genuinely did not take his order seriously. if you wanted something, you'd do it. and you wanted to stand your ground. "tell me what your issue is." you take more steps toward him, waiting for an answer in the center of the room.

• something inside of him snaps and he spins to face you, shooting a thick sheet of ice around your ankles and trapping you where you stand.

• "you are the most obnoxious, annoying, pretentious, self-entitled, stupid, incompetent, arrogant, useless—" bi-han DRIVES insults into you, jabbing a finger into your shoulder harder and harder with each descriptor. you're dumbfounded as you watch your grandmaster spew cold air from his lips, growing angrier by the second.

• your eyes flicker downward, and you feel your lips curl up devilishly at a new realization. under his pants, a thick tent was evident through his fuming anger.

• "i know why you're mad," your voice drops an octave, biting in your bottom lip to stop a grin. "you like me."

• bi-han's berating stops abruptly, the accusatory finger still in your face. a reddish blush creeps up his cheeks, reaching the tips of his ears.

• "what?" he asks curtly, tilting his head to see if he heard you right.

• "you heard me," you chuckle, leaning in. "you're mad you like me. because i'm better than you."

• "s...stop talking."

• "stop lying, then."

• "i'm not lying, you—!"

• "so you're just hard for no reason?" as you ask, bi-han's scowling lips drop into a tight line. his hand falls in front of his crotch, trying to casually conceal the bulge, but the damage was already done. your shit-eating grin only heated him further.

• the ice around your ankles melted as bi-han stood there at a horrified loss for words. you confirmed your newfound suspicion with so much ease it's a mystery how this man was considered enigmatic.

• how you got here exactly felt like a sweaty blur. your hips swiveled mercilessly against bi-han's, tugging on the ribbon that was one his sigil-bearing armband around his thick neck. low grunts and pants spill from his lips as he tries to gather as much of the flesh of your ass within his palms, squeezing and massaging the skin like it would disappear should he even consider loosening his grip.

• "yeah, you fuckin' like that, don't you?" you ask, slamming yourself onto his thick cock. your other hand couldn't help itself as it swung out and placed a crisp slap to his bare cheek to knock him back into reality. he returns the aggression with a hard buck upward, making you lurch forward and kiss the tips of your noses together.

• "you disgust me," bi-han groans, now taking control of the thrusts as his hips come up to ruin your momentum. as your lips part to gasp in surprise, he spits a thick wad of saliva into your mouth. "i'll use you for all you're worth."

• it feels like an obscene, sinful heaven as he fucks up into you while you choke him. it feels like a sick competition to see who would give in first, who would fold and beg for more.

• being sick and tired of your weight holding him down, bi-han, in one swift motion, manages to flip you over and get you on all fours. before you could protest, he freezes your knees and hands to the ground.

• "fucking annoying..." he mumbles, running a hand up your spine with the other landing a slap your ass. his soft pants become more frequent, and you feel him begin to spasm inside of you.

• "you're real close, grandmaster," you coo playfully, tight moans coming from your lips with each thrust. "i can feel how much you need me."

• "i don't need you," bi-han shamefully mutters, his moans getting increasingly higher, though still quiet. "i don't... hhh—"

• "admit it, you fuckin' liar," you giggle, bouncing your ass back onto him, relishing in the way his dick manages to hit the sweetest points in your walls.

• your banter falls silent as you both reach your high, caught off guard from the overwhelming pleasure as your bodies are used for each other's personal benefit. bi-han bites down on your shoulder as his hips snap forward, spilling his seed inside of you. his mouth is colder than a normal human's, and you find yourself enjoying the goosebumps it creates.

• after several seconds of deep breaths, bi-han pulls out and you feel terribly empty. his cum drips down your folds, tickling your inner thigh. he really filled you up.

• he pulls his pants back up, but you notice that the ice on your limbs remains as you stay on all fours completely nude. as bi-han smooths his hair and reties his armband, you crane your neck to speak to him.

• "h-hey," you shout out, brows knitted together in worry. "you gonna unfreeze me?"

• "no," he replies bluntly, crossing his arms.

• "wh... the fuck you mean, no?!" you wiggle, trying to break free but the ice is unusually thick. "we were in a meeting!"

• "and it'll go just fine without you," he says, cupping your ass with nails. "consider this a lesson."

• "i'll teach you a lesson when i shove my foot up your—" bi-han coldly silences you, literally. his hand wraps around your mouth and creates an icy barrier, preventing you from speaking your mind.

• "you're much more tolerable when you're not talking," a smirk toys at his face as he seems pleased with his work while you squirm in frustration.

[konpeitochodai]

𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒: 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐝 両面宿儺

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ a potential series; sukuna x f! reader (tw (?): mentions of illness and violence) ; 1.3k words unedited; masterlist

in the tapestry of history, the heian period was a brushstroke of opulence amidst the canvas of japan’s past, a time when the court was a chalice of culture, brimming with the nectar of artistry and poise. the air was thick with the scent of cherry blossoms, and the rustle of silken robes was the music of the day as nobles engaged in the delicate dance of courtly life.

you, a bloom in the illustrious garden of nobility, were the quintessence of heian splendor. your family, a lineage as old as the cedars that lined the path to the imperial city, was revered, and you, their sole daughter and heiress, were the embodiment of their grace and honor.

yet, whimsy often has a shadow, and yours was a malaise that draped over your vitality like a silk veil over a lantern's glow. illness had visited you, an uninvited guest whispering tales of fragility through the corridors of your being. your days, once filled with the laughter of courtiers and the whisper of brush on paper, now passed in a quieter cadence, punctuated by the careful ministrations of healers and the hushed prayers of your kin.

in this realm where the fantastic and the corporeal waltzed in a slow, intricate rhythm, your path was as unforeseen as the flight of a dragonfly over a moonlit pond.

as dawn's light surrendered to dusk, a calamity unfurled its cruel wings over the village that cradled your noble house. Whispers of smoke curled into the sky, a prelude to the inferno that would soon engulf the homes and hearts of your people. the flames, like ravenous beasts, devoured the tranquility of your sanctuary, reducing dreams and legacies to embers and ashes.

in the sanctity of your chamber, illness had rendered you as immobile as a painting, a silent observer to the chaos that raged beyond the shoji screens. the urgency of evacuation stirred the air, yet it seemed fate had woven a different thread for you. your attendants, faces taut with fear, fled for their lives, leaving you adrift in a sea of solitude, your life's flame flickering in the oppressive heat.

it was in this haze of despair and fever that a figure emerged, a towering silhouette against the backdrop of destruction. his presence was as enigmatic as the moon's path through a cloud-strewn sky. though your vision swam with the dance of your malady, you perceived the strength in his stance, the aura of power that clung to him like a shadow. this figure, a stranger amidst the chaos, stood as the only clarity in the blur of your world on fire.

his motives unreadable, his origins a mystery, he was the unknown variable in the equation of your fate, the last sight your weary eyes held onto as consciousness slipped from your grasp like the final petal of a season's last blossom.

in the thickening smoke, your voice, hoarse and weak, mustered the strength to speak through the veil of suffering, "end this... please, let this be my final reprieve." but the command, even in its plea, was met with a cold indifference from the towering figure. a command, no matter how faint, seemed to stir a distaste within him, a rebellion against the very notion of being ordered.

as the fire's light danced in his eyes, a revelation pierced the haze. he noticed the presence of a large curse spirit, its form twisted and malevolent, clinging to you with a parasitic zeal. this entity, unseen by the fleeing villagers, was a specter of malice, feeding off your life force, exacerbating your plight amidst the chaos.

his gaze, now fixed upon the curse that besieged you, revealed a new layer of complexity to the unfolding drama.

the curse spirit, drawn to the cursed energy that seeped from you, began to feed, siphoning your essence as you lay unconscious, lost to the world. and thus, a relentless battle ensued, a clash of wills and power. the figure, whom the flames seemed to bow before, engaged the spirit in a fierce conflict, each strike resonating with the intent to annihilate. the dance of their combat was as ferocious as the fire that consumed the village, a testament to the fury and the might that these beings wielded.

the battle that unfolded was a spectacle of raw, unbridled power, confined to the space where only the strongest curses dared to tread. sukuna, revered and feared as the disgraced one, found himself in an unusual predicament. he had only allowed a fraction of his immense power to surface, a sliver of his true capabilities, confident in his supremacy over any adversary.

yet, the cursed spirit that emerged from your body was no ordinary foe. it was a force to be reckoned with, its strength seemingly bolstered by the cursed energy it leached from your unconscious form. each exchange between sukuna and the spirit was a maelstrom of violence, a testament to the spirit's unexpected might. sukuna’s blows, usually decisive and fatal, were met with a resilience that bordered on the implausible.

as the fight raged on, sukuna couldn't help but entertain a thought, a morbid curiosity that gnawed at his pride. if you, whose body seemed so fragile and unassuming, were to perish, what magnitude of cursed energy would be unleashed? the spirit's tenacity hinted at a latent power within you, a reservoir of cursed energy that belied your outward frailty.

sukuna, engaged in this fierce struggle, found himself pushed to exert more of his power, to tap into deeper wells of his curse, not out of necessity, but to satisfy his own growing intrigue. what secrets did your weak body hold? what potential did it mask? these questions fueled his ferocity, driving him to dominate the spirit that dared challenge him, all while pondering the enigma of the cursed energy that lay dormant within you.

sukuna, in the midst of the battle with the malevolent spirit, decided it was time to end the charade. he unleashed a devastating increase in his power, amplifying it by a quarter, which sent shockwaves through the battleground. The spirit, previously feasting on your energy, stood no chance against such a formidable force.

the air itself seemed to shudder under the weight of his might, and the spirit that had been leeching off your energy recoiled, overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught.

sukuna’s intentions were clear; he was poised to end not just the battle but also your life, to absorb the unique cursed power that had piqued his interest. as his hand reached out, the world seemed to stand still, the finality of the moment hanging heavy in the atmosphere.

but then, a flicker of change swept through Sukuna's domain. his senses, sharp as ever, picked up the approach of a multitude of sorcerers, their combined presence enough to cause even the disgraced one to take pause. It wasn't fear that stayed his hand, but rather a recognition of the opportunity that lay before him. the thrill of the chase, appealed to him the most.

with a swift decision, sukuna altered his plan. rather than dispatching you and facing the incoming sorcerers, he chose to whisk you away, making an escape not out of necessity but as a deliberate act to fuel the narrative he reveled in. the chase would continue, and you, now an integral part of this high-stakes game, unknowingly was now caught in the eye of a storm, a valuable piece in sukuna’s grand design, as he led you both into the unknown…

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ hello !!! this is my first ever attempt at the prologue of a series !! but i’m sort of unsure if this is interesting enough to keep going lol…i enjoyed writing it but idk i like writing drabbles and such and would like to receive requests !!! maybe i should’ve put that into a formal post lol lol. but yeah, i hope you enjoyed and let me know if i should continue this series

[apompkwrites]

the protected draconia || malleus draconia

masterlist characters: n/a genre: angst(?)-ish (honestly sorta neutral) contains: lilia pov lilia pov lilia pov, blood/injuries, my own personal idea of how malleus' grandmother is?, ooc lilia probably I'm sorry D: summary: lilia knows more than he lets on. but what he didn't expect, in all of his time in briar valley, was to see a member of the royal family on the ground in a cave, wingless and hornless. notes: mm gotta get the story rolling somehow :D parts: [og post] | [previous] | [next]

lilia, for as long as he had served the draconia family, was well aware of the turmoil that befell the name after a mysterious man created a "bastard" child. the man was an enigma, an unknown parasite that came and went like the wind.

it was surreal for lilia, having been close to the general before his untimely passing that occurred after his family nearly fell apart. not only that, it was now his job to take over the position following the funeral.

and as time marched forward, so too did lilia. he found himself becoming a general and a father all in a span of a couple years. and although he loved his jobs, he couldn't help but think.

he would catch glimpses of them in the halls now and then. they often clung to miss leah as if she were their real mother. it was endearing, to say the least. and when lilia finally found the time, he had confronted the fae.

"i see you're taking care of the little dragon, now."

"ah, general lilia...!"

"no need for formalities. i was simply... here to ask for your opinion."

"opinion...? for what?"

"what is the best way to handle a cracked horn?"

it was as if the two were newly single parents that had no clue on how to raise their kids, which, in all honesty, wasn't far from the truth. with that single question, the two had forged a bond, a parental bond with the two members of the draconia family.

so when miss leah came rushing over, crying out that the little dragon had gone missing, lilia felt his heart drop to his stomach as if his own children had gone missing.

"lilia! lilia!" leah cried out as she barged into his chambers, tears falling down her face and her usually stoic and composed demeanor left behind somewhere.

"leah!" lilia gasped as she entered. "what is it?"

"it's (name)!" she panted as she struggled to catch her breath. "they... they were supposed to come back this afternoon, but when i went to retrieve them, the advisors told me they hadn't come back from their test!"

lilia grimaced at the sound of the advisors. he knew exactly which ones she was talking about and how cruel those supposed "good" fairies were.

"and what was that test the little dragon was sent on?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"they... they were sent into the forest! but they won't tell me what exactly happened!" leah panics, collapsing to the ground in front of lilia in a bow. "I beg of you, general lilia, please find them!"

lilia didn't have to think twice about the request. despite not formally meeting the younger draconia, he had a duty, an obligation, to keep them safe, both as the general of briar valley and the protector of their older brother, malleus.

the forest was dense and quiet, save for a few rustling of trees and bushes. despite the dense foliage, it didn't take him long to find a trace of the smaller draconia, or rather, whatever had taken them.

lilia had stumbled upon a trail, most likely one belonging to a beast of the briar. he had seen a fair share of them in his time out in the thorns but this one... this one was different.

from the prints alone, it seemed almost forced. it wasn't a natural trail one would see from a beast.

lilia was quick to follow the trail, finding himself weaving through thorn bushes and trees until he reached a small cave hidden amongst the flora. and what he saw there was beyond the horrors he had seen on the battlefield.

curled up on the ground, bound by thorned vines that cut and punctured their skin, was the so-called bastard draconia. and, other than the blood coming from their tied arms, was the blood dripping from their back and head.

"oh, you poor thing..." lilia could only coo, delicately cutting the thorned vines off of their arms and scooping them up. when he saw how crudely their horns and wings were ripped from the body, he had a sneaking suspicion he knew what fate had fallen upon the child in his arms.

"your highness." lilia greeted as he kneeled in front of the queen. just a formality, he always reminded himself. nothing but a formality.

"lilia... what is the meaning of this...?" the queen uttered, staring down at the body presented to her with wide, fearful eyes. "this..."

"yes. the child of your daughter and that... man." lilia responded, his hands lightly pressed against the child's back to stay the bleeding. "i am... aware of your decision to keep them within the palace walls, but... my main concern now, and miss leah's main concern, is the treatment of this child."

"...tell me more." she commanded as she stood up from the throne, slowly walking down the steps until she reached lilia and (name). "...despite their diluted blood, this is still my grandchild. what has happened to them?"

"i asked miss leah here to explain to you in detail. she has more experience in this than i." lilia explained, motioning for leah to step forward. she did, albeit with a bit more nervousness than lilia.

"your... your majesty..." leah bowed to the queen. "the child you have placed in my care is a bright one. however, many of the servants who have lived with them seem to only see them as the child of an affair and blame them wrongfully for their very existence."

the queen's demeanor seemed to change at that instant. her once caring and soft eyes directed at the unconscious child turned cold, almost rivaling that of the thorn fairy herself.

"miss leah... you mean to tell me that my own servants have been mistreating my grandchild?" she hissed under her breath.

"y-yes, your highness..."

"and, if i may," lilia chimes in, slightly lifting one hand. his palm was coated in blood. "it seems that your most trusted advisors have caused these injuries on the young child."

"they... what?" the queen growled, her expression growing darker.

"not directly or of their own hand, but by order." lilia clarified. "i have reason to believe that these injuries were caused by--"

"a fae in white, yes, it is quite obvious." the queen quickly interjected.

"...and so, your advisors seem to have ordered your grandchild to hunt down a beast in the briar, leading to them getting caught and abused by a fae in white." lilia concluded.

silence filled the throne room. the queen took a deep breath, clutching her scepter tightly in her hand, her knuckles turning white. she took another deep breath, her eyes shut.

"...i will deal with these unruly servants by my own hand." she decreed, slowly opening her eyes. they drifted down to (name), who was still shivering on the floor. "...have them tended to. i shall atone for my part in their suffering in the only way i can right now."

"and that would be...?"

"...lilia. leah. please raise my grandchild the way they should have. as a member of the draconia family."

it was a surprising awakening. opening your eyes, not to the cold floor of the cave, but to the pristine ceiling of... somewhere?

you weren't entirely sure where you were. and nor were you aware of who these people were standing above you.

taglist: @brokenncrown @help-meplz @destinationdesignation @rainys-personal-garden @kalims @sxftiebee @luxaryllis @auld-a @the-dumber-scaramouche @ayra2452008 @tinywho-man @spadecentral @justeclem44 @kenma-izhu @mulandi @sadimon @stormyovent0aster @sn00zl4x @f1fty-f1fty @bloomed-night-flower @madusas-girlfriend @b0nkers-papaya @arandomeroacher @randonamedcl @potabletable @meerpea @luvcalico @chlousp @prettyinblack231 @dindarasuum @elizaboba @ravenlking @reveristmain @lasignoramybeloved @poto-de-michi @sherryuki-callmeyuki @cadit-in-aestus-sidereum @valeriele3 @hu-tqao @reallytired5 @akitsuki13 @queenaveryrules @dia-disappointment @oxzamzu

[so-mordor-itis]

Black and Blue, Still Singing For You

Inspired by @scariusaquarius 's series Unlikely Salvation (Go check them out pls-) I hope you guys enjoy! I actually felt pain writing this...mmmm pining

“To be careful with people and with words was a rare and beautiful thing.” -Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, Benjamin Alire Saenz (@leonskillshot ;) )

I.

The cold air of the lab brushed over your neck. You held back the urge to shiver as you passed through the mechanical doors, clipboard in one hand, coffee cup in another. This would be another long day, but at least you wouldn’t be bothered by anyone else–the lab was yours and only yours. You wouldn’t have to deal with judgmental looks or scowls from your peers as you jotted down notes on your latest subject.

“Having a rough day already?”

Said subject’s voice echoed from his glass chamber. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, a tired expression on his face as he attempted to greet you. His cheeks and rims around his own eyes were crowded with black streaks from the Plaga parasite in his chest. The whites of his eyes a milky yellow color, his pupils–which were once a radiant, icy blue–now a dull grey. Leon was sitting on the ground of his (you honestly would have called it a prison cell at this point) chamber, his legs criss-crossed as he patiently awaited whatever you needed him for. Your heart ached with pity every time you saw him now, but you couldn’t allow it to show. Leon didn’t want to see it.

You sighed, scanning over the papers you were given just an hour prior. “You know how it is. The higher-ups just love working me to the bone.”

“Oh yes,” Leon huffed a laugh. “They make you think you’re free, but suddenly you find a 500-page document on your desk the next day.”

“Mhm, story of my life,” you replied. Squinting at a string of sentences. Experiments were placed on hold for a week after realizing just how tender the parasite was. A single cut through it would sever Leon’s nervous system and kill him instantly. You didn’t want that, and the people in the chairs higher up certainly didn’t want their weapon to perish under odd circumstances. It was a risky situation all around. One you desperately wished was in someone else’s hands. Leon Kennedy was an asset, not just to the DSO, but to the President. Anything going wrong, from him dying due to the Plaga, or to him going absolutely feral and escaping, would lead to your job being thrown out the window. Or worse, you could die in his hands, and there would be nothing anyone could do to stop him.

A year ago, he was sent to Spain to retrieve President Graham’s daughter, who had been kidnapped. She was taken by a cult, one that worshiped a parasite they had discovered underground. A lot of the details were classified, and for some odd reason, you were given only a handful. Ashley Graham had been injected with the same parasite, but thankfully, he was able to get it removed before it evolved into the next stage. Leon, having been dealt the same card, wasn’t so lucky. He wanted hers removed first, placing her safety above his. Just as the parasite was about to be removed from his own chest, it evolved. Apparently, according to the Las Plagas files, Leon maintained his humanity somehow. Perhaps his will was too strong. Or he was just too stubborn.

Either way, your nerves were calmer, knowing he was somewhat in control of himself.

“What’s on the schedule today?” He asked you. He was trying to sound bored, but a part of his sentence felt wary. You didn’t blame him. You wouldn’t exactly be ecstatic to be poked and prodded with knives and injections. “I’m guessing more parasite testing.”

“Actually, you just got a new treatment,” you told him, now facing his direction. “Gonna try a new type of medicine.”

Leon blinked in surprise. “Will it work?”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” You tried to give him a hopeful smile, but knowing how resistant the parasite was to other treatments, you didn’t want to give him any false aspiration. “That’s not until later, so you get to keep your superpowers for now.”

“Yes, because that’s so exciting,” he drawled, crossing his arms. “Get to be friends with the little fucker in my chest some more.”

You snorted. “Other than that, I’m just here to take notes,” you groaned a little at the idea. “Again.”

“You get to keep me company for a little while longer, huh?”

“Yep, lucky for you.”

You turned around in your chair to get started before hearing his voice again. “I’m glad it’s you, today.”

You bit back a smile. “Like my company?”

“More than you think.”

I.5

The treatment proved to be fatal. Leon had coughed up blood as it was injected into his veins. The parasite wiggled in his chest, moving his ribcage back and forth as it fought against him. You stopped the medication right away, sighing with defeat.

“Sorry, Agent Kennedy, I guess you’ll have to hang in there longer.”

“Not your fault,” he said, wiping the blood from his mouth. You wished you were allowed to give him a tissue. “And you’ve known me long enough that you don’t need to be so formal. Just call me Leon.”

II.

You had met Leon a few times before all of this happened. Moreso just passing by him in the main office while delivering notes and progress reports. Despite his rugged exterior, he was charming. He had asked you if you’d like to join him for dinner once, but you had to decline due to a project you were assigned to then. Part of you worried he would be upset, but he was immediately understanding.

Fate was truly an evil mistress.

It was an awful feeling, not being able to actually interact with him. You felt as if you were watching a hamster in a cage. He slept, ate, breathed, did everything in that glass chamber, and all you could do was observe. It made you feel as if you were a part of the problem, part of the reason he was trapped in there, part of the reason he wouldn’t be able to smell fresh air again. Wouldn’t be able to feel another’s touch.

“Got something on your mind?” His voice interrupted your thoughts. He was standing now, leaning against the back wall, perhaps occupied with thoughts of his own.

You shook your head. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Well, considering you’re the person who has to be here, watching me, noting down my behavior, I can’t help but worry it is about me.”

“Actually, it’s not.” You paused, thinking if what you were about to say next was wise. “For once.”

“Am I on your mind a lot or is it the Plaga moving around?” He’s teasing you now, and you honestly appreciated the distraction.

“You know, I was gonna compliment you but now I’m just gonna ignore you.”

“Ow. Harsh.”

“You started it.”

You turned your back to him and you can’t help but wonder if he’s pouting. You wanted to know what he was thinking, if he also appreciated a distraction from what future experiments he would be subjected to.

“You don’t have to eat lunch here, you know.”

“Well, technically, I do.”

“No, I mean in front of me.” Leon scowled a little as he casted his glance at your food. “It’s rude, honestly.” He wasn’t actually upset, jealous maybe, but not angry.

“You can’t eat normal food anymore anyway.” You brushed him off.

Leon sighed. “I know, but still. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss it.”

You felt a little terrible. “I’m sorry. I guess I felt like I…actually nevermind.” You stopped the words from flowing, but you didn’t stop his curious gaze.

“What? You can’t say that and just expect me to ignore it.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Just say it. Can’t be more stupid than half the shit I’ve said to you the past few months.”

“Half of that was you high on pain meds.”

“It still applies.”

You gnawed on the inside of your cheek. “I felt like I owed you a date.”

“Owed me a date?” He echoed.

“You asked me to dinner at least a few times, and I couldn’t say yes to any of them.”

Leon blinked, realization slowly clouding his expression. “Oh. Well, if you think this is equivalent to a date…I’m a bit worried about how low your bar goes.”

You rolled your eyes, attempting to remove yourself from the spot on the floor. Your legs had started to cramp anyway.

“Hey, wait,” he said. You tilted your head in confusion.

“I didn’t say I wanted you to leave.”

You gaped at him, heart fluttering in your chest. You glanced at the office clock, your lunch break ended in five minutes. This was so stupid, getting close to your subject simply because he was a man you once knew, once thought you had a small crush on.

Though you supposed sometimes the most unwise idea was the best one.

You sat back down and somehow he no longer looked miserable.

III.

You had been transferred to another lab, away from him. You knew this would inevitably happen, not even for personal reasons, but simply because they needed you in a different department. Yet, part of you couldn’t help but believe it was because you started treating Leon more as a human than as what your co-workers saw him as: a test subject that needed to be tested. Needed to be worked on, carved into their image.

Four months went by before you finally saw him again.

You were informed by your superior that they finally found a treatment that made the parasite lose its grip on his system, but they still wanted to keep him in that chamber. To watch. To observe. To keep him as their little guinea pig. All you had to do was keep watch for the final time. You had the best notes, after all. Had known him the best before this all blew up and caused such a ruckus.

Leon looked almost the same as the last time you saw him. The black lines on his face and hands had slowly faded, but the ones on his chest and biceps still lingered. The medication was working, but slowly. Once he saw your face, his eyes lit up, his heart monitor beeped a little faster and you couldn’t help but find that endearing.

“Been wondering where you’ve been,” he commented. You could tell he didn’t want to say he missed you, but you knew him well enough to know the undertones of his words. Leon wasn’t the best at communicating, but his actions always spoke louder. “They transfer you out of state?”

“Something like that,” you approached the glass, not wanting to admit he was more handsome now. His face was less sickly and his eyes were no longer sunken into his skull. His cheekbones were more defined. He was getting better. “I hope they didn’t treat you too poorly while I was gone.”

Leon shrugged. “I mean it was the same, besides hearing your voice every other day.” His eyes met yours now and you felt your heart flutter again. “I kinda missed your stupid jokes.”

“Oh, my jokes are stupid?”

“Very.”

“Have you heard the words that come out of your mouth?”

Leon laughed a little and suddenly the room felt brighter.

“Well, lucky for you, you get to hear me all day.” You said, poking the glass as if you were trying to poke him.

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze not wavering away from yours. “Lucky me. You still owe me another date.”

You rolled your eyes, sticking your tongue out at him. He only smiled again and you peel yourself away from the glass to sit in that all familiar office chair, and the all too familiar feeling of Leon’s gaze was once again glued to your back.

You wondered how long it would be until you could actually tell him you hated the way he made you feel. If you ever could.

If there would ever be a timeline where you two could actually go on a date, and he could kiss you the way you wanted him to.

~

Tags:

@seraphiism , @uhlunaro , @izuniias , @honeyfict , @konigbabe , @airanke , @muffimtv , @justonemore-fic , @mandalhoerian , @tosuckmyweenis , @boundinparchment

[multi-fandom-imagine]

[ wake ] for one muse to wake up to the other at the side of their hospital bed.

A/n: I am not so sure how I feel about this one.

It was a slit second reaction, one you weren’t even sure you would have been able to pull off but you had to try something.

You saw the glint of the knife which lead you to shove the man out of the way.

“Hey! What the-.”

“Always the observant type…weren’t you Y/n.”

That voice, you recognize it from anywhere. Just seeing the man made your skin crawl. “Krauser.” You has to bite your tongue to insult the man though a tight pain in your chest made blood bubble past your lips.

“Looks like our little lamb doesn’t have much time. These parasites, they’re a tricky little thing.”

You didn’t hear much of the conversation between Leon and Krauser. The pain was starting to become to much to handle, the blood slipping past your lips as Luis wrapped his arms around you as he carried you away from the fight. “It’s alright…you’re doing to be alright..I…I’m going to save you…I promise.”

Luis hated how weak he sounded, you didn’t deserve this. Wiping the blood away from his cheek he could barley hear what Leon was telling him but seeing you like this scared him. Pulling out they key in his pocket he glanced at Leon, Krauser long gone. “The lab…I need to get her to the lab.”

Cradling you against his chest, Luis just prayed that he could save you in time. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait for Leon though he was grateful that the man was standing in front of him. “I need too.”

“Go…I’ll catch up.” Leon gave him a nod, you looked so weak in his arms, your veins showing, your blood coating your shirt. “Do me a favor and keep the door unlocked.”

“por supuesto”

Luis tipped his head to the man then took off running as he prayed under his breath. “You’re going to be okay….I promise you’ll be okay.”

•+•

Getting to the lab was the easy part, but this part, this was the moment he was dreading. Laying you down on the bed Luis cupped your cheek, his thumb gliding over the skin. “You’re okay see….I’m going to fix this and you’re going to be okay but you need to do me a favor cariño…you need to hold on…this is going to hurt.”

Slowly opening your eyes, you weakly felt the man cup your hand, you felt metal beneath your finger tips.Your head was spinning, everything was felt like you were stuck in an echo chamber but Luis’s voice was the only thing that was coming in clear. “What do you mean-.”

“lo lamento.”

“Wh-.”

That’s when you felt it, the shocking pain was something like you’ve never felt before. You tried to endure the pain but it did not take long for you to pass out on the bed, Luis calling out your name.

+•+

Jolting awake, you let out a serious of coughs, a hand rubbing your back gently. “Easy…easy.”

Squinting you glanced up at the man, Luis giving you a smile. Lips trembling you wrapped your arms around him for a tight hug. “I have half a mind to slap you.”

Chucking Luis hugged you close as he placed a small kiss to your temple. “I would very much like for my face to remain intact…speaking of which we should really get out of here.”

“Why where are-.” A small yelp escaped your lips as Luis picked you up cradling you in his arms. “No time to talk princesa…”

“I.”

Now in Luis’s arms your buried your face into the man’s chest. You winced at the blaring alarm as the man held you closer though a laugh escaped his lips once he spotted the man. “Hola amigo!”

“Hey enough pleasantries! Get your ass on the jet ski, I rather not die.”

Snorting, Luis let you down. Your knees nearly bucking from under you. “Easy princesa, can’t have you on your knees yet.” Giving you a wink he helped you on the jet ski first then got on himself. “Hold on tight alright.”

Weaving your arms around his wiser you buried your face in the back of his neck. “Is this a bad time to say I get sea sick.”

“Please do not throw up on me.”

Scoffing you placed a kiss to his cheek though you let out a laugh as he speed off following Leon and Ashley.

+•+

You never thought you’d be grateful to step on dry land, sighing you gave Leon a smile then a nod as he walked off to brief Hunnigan on the events you all went through.

“So I think I owe you a big thank you in you know…saving my life.”

Luis scoffed as he grabbed your hand only to place a kiss to the back of it. “It’s the knight’s job to save the princesa.”

Shaking your head a smile graced your lips as you stood on your toes. “Well since that’s case then I think the knight deserves a kiss.”

“Maybe a dinner too?”

Rolling your eyes you let your arms wrap around his neck as you pulled him in for a kiss. “Defiantly a dinner.”

Wrapping his arms around your waist the man lifted you on the air spinning you around, a laugh escaping your lips. “Ah you are wonderful mi amor.”

Giggling you pressed your lips against his for another kiss, your fingers weaving through his hair.

Watching you both, Ashley cupped her hands inform of her. “I’m happy for them but…what about Luis…what’s going to happen to him.”

Rolling his neck, Leon shrugged his shoulders giving Ashley a slight smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Luis Serra died on the island…I’m looking at some guy we found.”

Beaming at Leon, Ashley placed a kiss to the agents cheek. “You’re the best Leon.”

[daylite-writes]

please please please please pleaseeeeeeeeeeee continue the sagau, its so good!!!!!!!!

Hnggg okay since y’all asked nicely, here’s the next part (pt 1 here) that I originally had partially written. This is legit the rest of it, so I have no more prepped after this. It’s Dottore Centric since I was originally supposed to cycle through most of the harbingers, and is such mild yandere I hesitated as even tagging it as such.

Doctor’s Orders (on your knees before me) - SAGAU ft. Dottore (pt 2)

After being brought back to the Tsaritsa’s Zapolyarny Palace, a familiar doctor is put in charge of your health. Happily, he takes on the role, and you learn a bit why the world loves you, and why the people hate you.

cws: allusions to temporary death, mild yandere, fading memories of a past life.

700 words

~~~

As it turns out, not letting the creator, well, be the creator leads to adverse side effects. Abnormal ley line flows, early deaths, and an unprecedented amount of power given to Celestia. Something Dottore explained to you in great—very confusing—lengths as he treated your hypothermia.

Huh.

You did not remember any of that from when you played the game.

Was the real world even real, or was this one the falsehood? You had a family and a life, for better or for worse.

Your skull began to ache whenever you thought of your home… logically you had a family, a world you hailed from, separated from your own. It faded from you, slowly, as if it was never even there to begin with. It was difficult to mourn it.

Dottore was speaking, you refocused your attention on him, as he strode over holding a hand out for your forearm, a syringe prepared for you. You gave it up easily.

“Creation, as we’ve found, is a hard task. After making a world, said creator often must rest for millennia. This gave Celestia time to attach to our world—to you—like a parasite. You should have awoken long ago. The archons were all expecting you to descend a few hundred years back. When you didn’t, the Tsaritsa’s war against Celestia began.”

“Ah.” Okay… sure. You’d accept that as fact for now. “What happens now that I’ve descended? Is this war against Celestia over then?”

“Hm? Oh, of course not. The Tsaritsa will personally drag Celestia down from their stolen thrones and gut them in your name, before returning their power to you.”

A violent, gleeful edge tinted his tone, then. Under his mask, a sharp smile spread as the thought crossed his mind. You paid it no attention, it was just the way he was.

“How are you so sure I’m the Creator? Others thought me to be an imposter of sorts.”

“How wouldn’t we?” Dottore laughed. “Your blood is gold, your deaths left the world weeping, the stars in your eyes shift to the constellation of whatever person you look at, and you know so much about each of us. Not to mention, we were the ones who awoke you.”

Your eyes immediately tore away from the syringe he was drawing blood with, shooting to him. “What?”

Dottore smiled, lips curling back to bare sharp teeth. “Oh, they didn’t tell you?”

“You couldn’t have awoken me.” You whispered, brow creasing. “I first appeared in Inazuma, where Kujou Sara killed me.”

The arrow was swift. After hours of wandering across familiar landscapes, the soft buzz of electro on your skin, wonder bright in your eyes. All that was cut short when the tengu woman shot you without hesitation. As you faded away, you heard her mangled scream as you bled gold.

“Awakened, not summoned. We could not control where you descended once your body awoke.”

You nodded. No wonder they were so… prepared to retrieve you, then. Brought back to the Tsaritsa’s palace, you were met with staff, a personal chamber, and every harbinger present to receive you. Even the Tsaritsa herself lowered herself from her icy throne to meet you.

You were very relieved that you met their unknown expectations for this ‘Creator’ you were expected to be.

You felt fingers on your chin, cold, the skin to skin contact separated by his sanitary gloves. He tilted your face up, locking eyes with yours, even if they were hidden by his mask.

He let out a soft, utterly enchanted sigh. “My creator.”

You brought your hand up, cupping his face in turn. Immediately, he slumped into it, like a cat, mumbling again; “My creator… my creator.”

You wondered if his eyes fluttering closed at your touch, if the slump of his shoulders, almost purring sigh, was due to your rank as creator. Was your very touch ecstasy?

His eyes remained closed when he next spoke. “The tsaritsa wishes for your presence, once you are medically cleared. It will be a little bit though. I guess you’ll just have to spend some time within my laboratory. Your health will be observed by me, of course.”

The way he said it, slightly cheeky, made you question if you actually were still sick. Alas, you were out of your depth, for now.

So, you drew back your hand, watching curiously as Dottore’s content look shifted to that of a small frown, lifting his head curiously. At his look of slight disgruntlement, you laughed a bit. “I’ll stay here, just for a few days.”

After all, you needed time to prepare to meet the Tsaritsa.

~~~

So this is all that has been prepped for the Sagau stuff, everything else is just passing thoughts. Thing is, SAGAU is way less popular, which means I read way less, and get less ideas. This is a very traditional SAGAU au tho and I’m happy people liked it!

[techtainia-makes-things]

More MTMTE Megatron x reader nonsense

In which Megatron is pining for the reader, and the reader is just glad that he isn’t sulking

This was the best day of your career.

You had joined the crew of the Lost Light with a brisk farewell to everything you’d ever known. You had stayed with them through the fighting, the deaths and the occasional visit to a planet. Or charisma parasites. Or the occasional series of time travel shenanigans. Anyways, none of those victories tasted as sweet on your tongue as this one. Nothing could beat the swell in your heart as you sighed in blissful relief.

Megatron wasn’t sulking.

He hadn’t hauled himself up in his habsuite, waiting for you to knock with a report and light conversation. He didn't pinch the bridge of his nose as Rodimus cartwheeled onto the bridge. He didn’t even make one sharp remark towards one of his fellow Autobots, if he could actually even be properly called one at this point. You were starting to truly believe that maybe one day, he could.

He was teaching. 

You didn’t even know that the Lost Light had a lecture hall, but to see it filled with Autobots as you sat on a table in the back of the room was something else. It plastered a smile onto your face as Riptide asked if he had passed. Megatron had said no, but that he would explain why…

This was great.

Between statements, Megatron would glance in your direction and at your gigantuine smile. His back would somehow get straighter, and occasionally, he would give you a small smile back. Something glittered behind his ruby optics. You assumed that it was joy. This was good.

This was progress.

The class had ended as soon as it had begun, or it at least felt like it. You pulled your sleeve back from over your watch. Three hours had passed. Looking at everyone leaving, you could tell. Skids was getting rather twitchy. In the scramble to get out the door, Megatron strode over into long, unsure steps towards you.

“Y/N?”

You hum in response, the grin still splitting your face. “That was a great lecture…You make a good teacher.”

You could have sworn that you heard his cooling fans on their lowest setting, but that had to be your imagination. He paused, as if he was searching for the right words to say. “...Yes. Thank you…I hope that you are not too worn out for a few poems?”

“I never could be.” Not after he finally started step two of an attempted redemption: Actually getting up and doing some good. You had waited far too long for this for you to shut him down now. You could hardly even believe he had started writing again. A few love poems nonetheless. You wondered who they could be for, but you never asked. With the progress he was making, he would come to you eventually.

Megatron smiled, only slightly, as his optics crinkled up at the corners as much as they could with his metal face. For an ex-warlord, he had a nice smile. The way that the light of his optics bled onto his cheeks almost made it look like they were flushed with energon. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You had never looked at him like that before.

With eyes full of something that Megatron could only hope was adoration. Your smile shone brighter than the stars outside any window on the ship. He watched you from across the room, optics flicking between you and the group of autobots making their way through the door.

It was wonderful.

Just like that, he had another list of topics for his newer works of poetry. No wonder he wrote so much about you. Had showing them to you softened your heart to make you see him in a new light?

Then you mentioned his teaching.

Oh. Of course you were doing this. You had always watched any sort of kindness or intellectuality with the same kind of tender expression. Still, Megatron couldn’t help but relish in the unfiltered joy that flooded his spark when it was in his direction; made his spark flare and push against his spark chamber as if to reach out for you. 

He paused.

How could he ever have thought that he deserved this kind of happiness? Your smile was his light in an ocean of darkness. Hope in a sea of hopelessness. It’s a shame that he met you when he did. 

You would have loved him in his youth: A miner and a poet with a dream.

Megatron decided that he was more like that version of him now than the one he had left behind with his Decepticon badge. He snuffed out the voice in the back of his processor that said otherwise in hopes that it wouldn’t rear its ugly head ever again. If you would allow him to have you, he would. He just had to earn the right for the chance. 

And he had just gotten started.