#and the thing is. Someone tipped off the old man. the old man who escaped with his granddaughter.

[i-am-become-a-name]

ohohohohoho early gallifrey audios. queen, beloved queen, bastard and other bastard times. also k9.

[barleyo]

BARELYYYYY write another daddy Leon fic, AND MY LIFE WILL BE YOURSSS

867-5309.

Real Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: this fic is shitty and short, sorry ^_^ i literally have no drive or desire to write anymore, idk what's going on with me. probably some type of brain worm! but i thought i should at least try to get something written :3 (ily whoever knows what song the title is referencing)

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), phone sex, age gap (21 and 50-ish), mutual masturbation, no actual sex, idk dude i'm not sure what i was going for with this

Wordcount: 719

!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!

"Little note wasn't lying," Leon said into his phone, sitting in his car near the back of the bar's mostly empty parking lot. "What's this about a good time, doll?"

It was too late for him to be out like this. Too late for him to be this far from sober. Too late for him to be calling some random number that was stuck to the urinal partition. And, of course, it was much too late for him to be this horny.

"Depends," a voice, your voice, spoke on the line. "What kinda night is it, mister?"

Thank god he was drunk, or else he would've heard right through your overly sensual, fake tone. Thank god you were stupid, or else you would've known it was him right from the sleazy nicknames he used.

"Tonight?" 

Dirty fucking man. His hands were practically already in his pants. Roughly palming at himself over his tented jeans to the sound of some mystery broad's voice. 

"It's a real good night, babydoll. I think you could make it better though." He pulled his zipper down, cock pulsating desperately. 

You giggled on the other line, absolutely drowning in the sudden flush of attention. That's why you slipped the damn sticky note with your burner's number into the men's room all those nights ago, hoping some horned up man old enough to be your dad would ring your line and validate you. Little did you know, that man would truly be your dad. 

"Sounds like you could use it. I don't mind 'chatting' for a bit," you said, hand finding its way all over your body. "Tell me, y'touching yourself already?"

"To a voice like yours? Of course I am."

Leon freed himself from the confines of his pants, eyes shifting anxiously as he looked around the sparse parking lot. He was a grown man, he'd jerked off to hotlines and voices on the phone all the time. In public, though? New territory completely. 

He squeezed his shaft, feeling it pulse in his hand. Thing had a heartbeat of its own at that point as it practically begging to catch some friction and relief. 

"Glad you called," you said, sliding your panties off while you spoke. You tossed them in the corner of your room mindlessly. "I've been waiting for someone to find that little note."

Leon opened his mouth to respond when he heard a soft moan escape your mouth. That was enough for him to start. He wanted to take it slow, to enjoy himself, but who was he kidding? He was a needy fucker and he wanted to cum ASAP. 

"What'cha doing right now?" he was finally able to ask, swallowing thickly as he pumped his length. "Using those cute fingers, doll?"

You hummed through an over exaggerated moan, dramatizing and putting on a show for your 'mystery man.' 

"Sure am," you said, finger curled, reaching your g-spot the best you could with the limited length it had. "But it's not as good as the real thing."

He could practically hear the pout in your voice, and it drove him crazy. You sounded like a bratty little baby, just his type. 

"Awh, aren't you a poor thing? Bet some older cock would do you good, huh?" 

He heard the squelch of your cunt through the phone speaker. It picked up the sound of your palm hitting your clit, and the little gasps of air you let out each time you slammed your fingers in.

"Guess so." You bit your bottom lip, holding back an excited squeal at his words. "You offering?" 

Leon chuckled dryly, watching the tip of his cock weep with pre as he stroked himself. "Oh, someone's eager. Sure," he said, amused smirk on his face as he started to near his climax, hand still working furiously over his cock. "I'm offering. I could use a cute thing like you, anyway. It'll be much better than just hearing ya through the phone."

"We'll see about that," you teased, phone clicking off of the line just as he started to cum. 

(XXX)-867-5309: *sent location* 

(XXX)-867-5309: pull up ;)

Wait, that address? That was his house...

"Fuck."

Leon's head fell back on the car seat headrest, brain going a mile a minute. Hand still covered in stray spurts of cum.

"Fuck!"

[bellarkeselection]

Hey could you write for Daemon targaryen like while he's being haunted in harnehal he finds his comfort in a prisoner and falls in love with her targaryen type of love and obsession and he married her like his second wife something he listens to her obeys her admires her while he fights war for rahaenya right guess she isn't happy with their marriage but have to accept as he's crucial for her but later on when they're leading she asks him her head so they both escaped with caraxes alive to anywhere you want

His Compass of Harrenhal

Tag list - @only4thefics @superintenseart @universallyrascaldreamercookie

This request will have a couple of parts to it so enjoy and if you want to be added send that below in the comments 😊

I could hear footsteps slowly coming through the castle that I was forced to be a prisoner in. Not physically but mentally inside my mind for years and years to come. Sneaking through the hallway near the kitchen I raised my sword until I jumped around the corner feeling the cold tip of a sword against my throat. “Show yourself you ghost!”

“Not before you reveal yourself first!” I heard a deep man’s voice shifting my gaze up to meet his purple eyes that could only belong to a Targaryen.

I gulped slightly nervous that I must still be having another nightmare. “What is your name, ghost?”

“I’m no ghost, strange woman. I am Daemon Targaryen. The future king of the Seven Kingdoms. Now who the hell are you!” He growled under his breath glaring his eyes deadly in my direction.

The tip of my sword was pointed up against the fabric of his tunic shirt while he had his sword end up against my throat. Both of us never lowered our weapons while we spoke to one another. “My name is Y/n, Y/n Tully. I was wed to the late lord of this castle until I started hearing and seeing things that didn’t make sense. I’ve been attempting to escape ever since he called me a witch.”

“He’s named you a prisoner then?” Daemon raised a brow at me.

Shaking my head, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. “I’m not quite sure anymore. I haven’t been able to trust my own mind to tell me what is real and what is fake for far too many years. Why are you here, if you’re truly here.”

“Have you known any of these ghosts you see to ever have a sword pressing against your throat.” He questioned me.

I replied, beginning to lower my blade off of his chest. “I can’t say that they ever have.”

“Then we may not be alone in whatever is going on inside this dreadful castle.” He placed his sword back in his belt, walking into the kitchen and I followed him knowing it was probably a better option then going back alone to my old chamber room. I couldn’t stand the idea of being a prisoner here anymore than I already had because I feared I wouldn’t make it through another night on my own. Not without Daemon by my side.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been staring into the burning flames of one of the candles I was holding in one hand and my sword tightly clenched in the other. The rain hadn’t stopped at all during the day and I didn’t believe it was going to stop throughout the night either. Hearing footsteps coming into the chambers I scrambled to my feet I spun around aiming my blade towards the shut window until someone put their hand over my mouth causing me to go into fight or flight mode. “Get your fucking hands off of me - gah!” I screamed attempting to cut the ghost with my blade.

“Gīda ilagon. Gīda ilagon, issa klios ābrazȳrys ( Calm down. Calm down, my fish wife ).” I sucked in a breath feeling the tension in my body beginning to fade recognizing the voice that spoke in my ear.

Closing my eyes I paused lowering my sword asking him a question. “Issi ao se vala nyke call issa zaldrīzes dārys? ( Are you the man I call my dragon king? ).”

Daemon’s voice whispered in my ear, hot breath framing on the side of my neck. “Kessa, issa byka ābrazȳrys ( Yes, my little wife ).”

“Daemon!” I squealed out in such a relief flinging my arms around his neck letting my sword clank to the floor without a care in the world knowing that he wasn’t in fact another ghost attempting to haunt my mind night after night.

He wrapped his arms around my waist clinging onto me like he needed me to physically breathe. He buried his nose into my hair barely letting some tears be shed from his eyes. “Y/n.”

Unaware of how long we had been there together we had come up with our own secret code system that we made sure no one else knew except for the two of us and us alone. He was fluent in high valyrian and very few people who weren’t a part of the Targaryen family could speak it. So he would teach me every chance he could when he wasn’t trying to raise an army for his queen and former wife Rhaenyra.

“Touch me, Daemon.” I muttered under my breath barely pulling away from his embrace. Needing just a tiny bit more proof that it was truly him.

He moved his hands up to cradle the sides of my face in his own hands , crashing his lips down onto mine in a very deep kiss leaving me breathless when he broke it. “I’m here, Y/n. Your dragon husband is right in front of you.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck I drew him in for another long kiss. He threaded one of his hands into my hair drawing out a moan from me. We remained attached to one another making our way back to the bed where I collapsed onto my back with him hovering above me.

Wrapping my arms around his neck I went to kiss him but a loud knock came from the other side of the door. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.”

“I’ll go tell the asshole to leave.” Daemon got up from the bed, flinging the door opened seeing the caretaker of Harrenhal. “What the hell do you want this late hour!”

The man extended his hand holding out a letter. “A letter from Dragonstone, my king.”

“Who’s it from?” I asked him sliding down off the bed walking over to him, taking it from his hands and tearing it open. I began reading it aloud since Daemon seemed to be in no mood for any company tonight except for me. “Dear Daemon, I have been wondering how the search for men for my army is going. It’s been quite a while since I’ve heard anything from you so this is me asking for an answer. I need more men to secure my throne and my birthright. Keep your word and loyalty to your queen and wife , Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

“You’re first wife. She’s the one the late king Viserys named his rightful heir right?” I asked him sitting the letter down on the nearest table.

Daemon lowered his purple eyes to meet my gaze. “She’s actually my second wife. My first died on her horse, then her until the night I met you in this castle. I need to give her an army to help her take the throne back.”

“You’ll need the support of the Riverlords. House Tully controls how loyal they are. I can speak to Lord Grover for you.” I draped my arms over his neck and he put his hands on my hips bringing me closer to his body.

Daemon smiled widely down at me, kissing me deeply a second time not caring the lord was here. “Brilliant and beautiful I certainly won with you Lady Y/n Tully.”

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[toruskiii]

Love Delivery!

Synopsis: Balancing part-time food delivery with a busy school schedule is no easy task. One day, while on a delivery, you find yourself awkwardly waiting at the door of a luxurious apartment. Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing a handsome, albeit annoyingly rich, man. Genre: Romance, fluff, slow-burn?? (modern au!) Character: Aventurine x fem!reader Warnings: Hot sassy men apocalypse, maybe this will have a part 2 or smth idk

[masterlist] [about me]

Ding!

Someone has placed an order near your set area.

You glance at the notification on your screen, just as you’re snapping a picture of the food you’ve delivered to the nice granny’s house. The elderly lady smiles politely, waiting patiently as you finish taking the photo.

“Ah, another order, young lady?” she croaks out, offering a small, grateful bow when you hand her the plastic bag of food. “Thank you so much, hoho. I’m sorry to trouble you young folks, but it’s hard for my old bones to get around, you know?” She chuckles, giving your shoulder a gentle pat.

You smile at her and shake your head, waving off her concern. "It's no problem, granny. It's my job, after all." After bidding farewell to the old lady, you put on your helmet, hop back on your bike, and accept the new order request.

Penacony's Clock Diner? Wait-

You quickly check the location set for your food delivery, confused by the address. You're all the way in Aurem Alley, and the customer wants food from Penacony? Ridiculous.

Location Set: Xianzhou Luofu.

How is this guy even able to send his request to you?

You double-check the address, noticing the system listing it as Fyxestroll Garden. What the hell? There aren’t any apartment complexes at Fyxestroll Garden!

Puzzled, you pull over to the side of the road and open the map on your phone, trying to make sense of it. Fyxestroll Garden is a well-known public park, famous for its serene walking paths and meticulously kept gardens. You can’t recall any buildings, let alone residential ones, in the area. You tap on the address again, hoping it’s a mistake or a glitch, but the coordinates remain unchanged.

Maybe it’s a new complex that just opened? you wonder. Or could it be some sort of exclusive residence hidden within the park?

Not long after, another text message pops up on your screen, and it's from the guy.

Frustration boils within you as you read the message, your temper nearing its breaking point. The blazing sun beats down mercilessly, intensifying your irritation as you stand near the dock, contemplating a plunge into the cooling waters below. How could this customer be so careless as to mess up their address, leaving you to contend with this sweltering heat and an hour-long detour?

And curse this app for its lack of a proper cancellation feature!

With a frustrated groan, you glance at the text, feeling the resistance of your bike's wheels grow heavier as you open the GPS. You're tempted to unleash a torrent of curses at the customer for exploiting some loophole in the app, forcing you to exert yourself just to deliver his order. He better be prepared to tip generously for this inconvenience.

To reach Penacony, your best bet is to take the Astral Express train— a mode of transportation you've used before but disliked immensely. The erratic jumps and occasional turbulence make for a nerve-wracking journey. And that conductor… Was it just fatigue playing tricks on your mind, or did they really have bunny ears…?

You sigh heavily as you enter the station, swiping your pass before parking your bike and leaning against it. Your gaze drifts to the TV hanging on the wall, checking the schedule to see when the train will arrive. Fifteen minutes? Well, there's no escaping it now…

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You feel like hurling yourself into outer space.

Not only did the restaurant forget to prepare the order, but you're also stuck in a conversation with one of the servers who insists on cracking the most cringeworthy jokes.

"There's no such thing as a bad joke, only lousy comedians who can't deliver them!" the server— Jay, apparently. boasts. Doesn't this guy have other customers to attend to? Good grief. You're tempted to point out that he's no better than those lousy comedians, but you're not that mean— and you definitely don't want to risk losing your job.

"Order number 38! One sarmale and one classic soulglad!" a worker calls out, providing a convenient distraction as you hastily grabbed the food and rush over to your bike— just in time for your phone to start chiming with multiple notifications.

Fuming with frustration, you run a hand through your hair, pedaling away as fast as your legs can carry you to the designated location. One hand grips the handlebars tightly while the other clutches your phone, fingers jabbing at the screen as you send panicked voicemails to the careless customer.

"I'm on my way! I'll be there soon!" you breathe out, your voice strained with urgency, weaving through traffic with reckless abandon. You're so preoccupied that you didn't even bother with your helmet, leaving it hanging on the basket of your bike as you speed along. The wind rushes past you, whipping your hair back as you scream into your phone.

"I'm practically flying to your place. Just hold on!" you seethe, narrowly avoiding collisions with other vehicles. You swear you catch a glimpse of a pair of blue-haired siblings shooting you a skeptical glance as you whiz by. No one's going to meet their demise on my watch.

(Maybe a few might with the way you're on the verge of causing car crashes.)

With determination fueling every pedal, you push yourself to the limit, determined to reach the customer's location before they decide to relocate to another universe altogether.

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Upon stepping into the lounge of the apartment complex, you stand there, utterly flabbergasted.

The sight before you is nothing short of opulent. Everyone here is dressed to the nines in fancy attire, oozing sophistication and wealth. I mean, what did you expect? That the guy who ordered the food would settle for anything less than extravagance? 1800 credits for a soda?

But even knowing that, you weren't prepared for the sheer luxury of it all. Marble floors greet you the moment you enter, with plush velvet red sofas arranged in elegant clusters at every corner. The vases of plants adorning the marble countertops probably cost more than your entire monthly rent.

The sprawling expanse of rooms lining the halls seems to stretch on endlessly, giving you the impression that you've stumbled into a palace rather than an apartment complex. You can't help but feel like a humble peasant as you approach the lobby manager, your attire— a mishmash of sweaty clothes and a random jacket—paling in comparison to the impeccably tailored suits of the residents. Are you checking into an apartment or a castle?

What catches you off guard is the realization that most of the people milling about in this opulent setting are students. Students! You recognize familiar faces in the crowd— classmates from the same campus you attend.

"Hello, I'm here to deliver an order for room number ███," you murmur to the manager, noting the slight stress in her demeanor as she punches in the room number to confirm the request. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise when she directs you to the Platinum room.

The Platinum room? Your mind races with questions as you make your way through the halls, the extravagant surroundings only adding to your bewilderment. What kind of student lives in the Platinum room of an apartment complex like this?

Here you stand, face to face with the imposing wooden door adorned with intricate golden trimmings, feeling as though your bank account is slowly draining with each passing moment. You raise a hand to knock, furrowing your brows in confusion when there's no immediate answer.

"Hey, it's me. I'm here to deliver your food," you call out, giving the door another firm knock. Still, there's no response. Seriously?

Technically, you could just leave the food at his door and be done with it. But something about the luxuriousness of this apartment complex makes you hesitate. It wouldn't reflect well on you to simply abandon the delivery outside, especially in such an upscale setting. (You internally roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all.)

As the door finally creaks open, you're poised to unleash the most scathing side-eye you can muster— ready to give this guy a piece of your mind for keeping you waiting (and running). But as your gaze meets his, you freeze.

You'd seen his profile picture on the app before, but you'd doubted that a man so devastatingly handsome could possibly exist in real life. You'd convinced yourself that it was probably some sort of prank or scam, someone using a fake photo to lure in unsuspecting victims.

But now, standing before you, is a man who defies all logic. His golden, tousled locks frame a face so strikingly beautiful it steals your breath away. His eyes— oh, those eyes— they're like pools of sapphire surrounded by a halo of lavender. You feel your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment as you struggle to find your voice, your words caught in your throat like a lump of lead.

He gazes back at you, those mesmerizing eyes flickering with mild curiosity as he tilts his head inquisitively. "Hm? Ah, it's you," he says, breaking the spell of silence that had enveloped you. But you can hardly hear him over the thunderous pounding of your heart, which seems to be screaming one thing over and over again: He's even more breathtaking in person.

You mentally slap yourself, shaking off the remnants of your daze as you stumble over your words, handing him his bag of food with trembling hands. "R-right, sorry to keep you waiting. Here's your food, sir," you manage to stutter out, inwardly cursing yourself for apologizing. Why am I apologizing? He's the one who's in the wrong here!

He lets out a soft chuckle, and you swear the sun must be finding its way to shine through the walls of the complex as your ears burn at the mere sound of his laugh. It's so calming, so captivating, that you feel like you're floating in a dream.

"No, no. Don't apologize. It's my fault for entering the wrong address," he reassures you, his voice smooth as silk. His fingers brush over yours as he reaches for his food, sending an electric shock through your entire body at the brief contact. You can't help but notice how his gaze softens as he opens the plastic bag to check the contents, a small hum of satisfaction escaping his lips at the sight of the still-warm food. You decide not to question it— perhaps he's just feeling a bit homesick.

You continue to awkwardly stand there, your hands fidgeting nervously in your pockets as you struggle to find something to say. "So, uh, your total is 6500 credits, sir," you finally manage to blurt out, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

He blinks in mild surprise, a small "ah" escaping his lips before he nods, disappearing momentarily back into his apartment. He returns a moment later, wallet in hand, a mischievous smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Since I've troubled you so much, how much do you want me to pay you back with, hm?" he teases, his tone playful.

You stare at him, your mouth hanging open in disbelief. Well, he did put you through quite a bit of trouble, making you trek all over town just to deliver two measly items. But still, the thought of asking for more money makes you feel incredibly awkward and embarrassed. "No, that…that won't be necessary," you choke out, feeling your palms grow sweaty with nervousness. "There's no need—"

"I insist," he interrupts, his tone firm yet strangely charming.

Well, damn. You're caught between feeling grateful for his generosity and feeling utterly mortified at the prospect of asking for more payment. But with his insistence ringing in your ears, you find yourself reluctantly nodding in agreement, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"1000 credits is fine," you mumble, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of asking for more money.

"Just 1000?" he repeats, narrowing his eyes at you with a slight frown. "That's quite low, considering the trouble I've put you through," he adds, his fingers skimming through his wallet in search of more credits.

As he rummages through his wallet, you can't help but notice his student card peeking out from among the bills. Your lips part in shock as you realize he's a student at the IPC—yeah, he's definitely rich. You should have haggled for more money.

"Are— do you major in accounting…?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself, your eyes darting to his card. He hums in response, shaking his head. "Nah, fashion. I can't count."

The two of you maintain eye contact for a few moments, and you find yourself staring at him dumbly while he gives you a cat-like grin.

"Did you actually buy that? I'm joking. I major in both finance and accounting."

You can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at his flippant attitude. This man radiates fuck-boy energy, and you're starting to have second thoughts. Does he get a pass because of his looks, or is it because of his looks that he gets a pass?

"Oh," is all you can manage to answer as he hands you a random stack of credits.

You stare dumbfounded at his outstretched hand, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you glance back and forth between the stash of credits and his gaze. "Huh? How much is this?" you inquire, still hesitant to accept the payment.

"Does it really matter?" he scoffs, nudging you playfully. "1000 credits is way too little, and I don't like scamming people. I don't stoop that low," he chuckles, his tone light despite the seriousness of the situation. When you don't budge, he feels a twitch in his eye before suddenly grabbing your jacket and tugging at your pockets, causing you to let out a startled yelp. "Hey! What the hell—"

Ignoring your protest, he shoves the credits inside your pocket with lazy nonchalance, letting out a whistle of satisfaction before releasing his hold. "There. Now just think of it as you were robbed in reverse," he quips, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"That's not helping!"

"It's not like your boss or whoever's in charge of the app will check your pockets, right? I'm just giving you tips, there's nothing wrong with that," he shrugs, struggling to hold back a snort at how visibly annoyed you look. If this were any other person, like an 'actual' adult or man, he'd brush it off and just toss a random wad of tips your way before politely closing the door. Maybe he'd pause for a pretty lady— well, you are a pretty lady.

But he can tell you're a student, just like him, probably working your ass off just to make ends meet. Hey, he doesn't judge. Plus, it's kind of fun to tease people occasionally, and you remind him of another acquaintance of his who's majoring in medicine.

"So, anything else?" he murmurs, leaning casually against the doorframe, a small smirk playing on his lips.

You can't help but feel a mix of irritation and amusement at his nonchalant attitude. "No, that's it," you reply tersely, your voice tinged with annoyance. You can't wait to get out of here and put this bizarre encounter behind you.

He nods in acknowledgment, his smirk widening ever so slightly. "Alright then. Take care, pretty," he says, offering you a lazy wave before shutting the door gently behind him.

As you make your way back to your bike, you can't help but replay the encounter in your mind, wondering just what the hell just happened. This guy is definitely one of a kind, that's for sure.

As you swiftly exit the complex and pedal back to the train station, a dull headache begins to gnaw at your temples. You have other pending orders waiting for you back in Luofu, and the thought of having to navigate through the city once more only adds to your growing exhaustion. Yet, amidst the fatigue, a small swell of warmth tugs at your heart at the thought of not getting his number.

Sure, he provided his contact information when he placed the order, but with a guy like him, you're almost certain it's just his business line or something equally impersonal. Besides, it would feel a bit creepy to text him out of the blue. What would you even say?

'Hey, I thought you were cute after making me run laps around the city and deal with an annoying server, hmu?'

No way, that's beyond pathetic. Plus, you'd risk losing face.

Lost in your thoughts, you arrive back at the train station, your hands absentmindedly reaching up to touch your flushed cheeks, still tingling from the encounter. He's undeniably attractive, and you can't shake the nagging feeling that he probably already has a girlfriend— or several. Besides, you should be focusing on your studies, not getting involved with some rich fuck boy.

Ding!

Huh?

You're snapped out of your reverie by the sound of a notification chiming on your phone. With a curious frown, you unlock your device to see what it is.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you read the notification, your eyes widening in disbelief. What the hell is wrong with this guy? 10,000 credits? Is he insane?

With trembling hands, you quickly fish out the money he gave you from your pockets, counting through the stack under your breath to keep your panic in check. "6, 7, 8… 9…" you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you realize he gave you thrice the amount needed.

Your fingers tap frantically on your phone screen as you type out a response, your words rushed and panicked. "Dude, you gave me thrice the amount needed already—stop."

As you stare at the screen, your mind reels with disbelief. He just willingly gave you his phone number— and he thinks you're cute?

It's a little funny, in a surreal sort of way, that the entire conversation is still ongoing within the food service app. Here you are, exchanging private messages with each other despite the platform's intended purpose.

You gulp, feeling the heat rise to the tips of your ears. Your brows knit together in a mixture of disbelief and slight annoyance, the memory of the earlier encounter still fresh in your mind. After all, he did put you through quite a bit of trouble with that address mix-up.

Should you add him?

"…"

You're caught off guard as a strong gust of wind rushes past you, fluttering your hair in its wake as the Astral Express train arrives. The station immediately becomes crowded, and you struggle to maneuver your bike into the passenger compartment as people squeeze past you. Finally, you manage to park your bike and squeeze yourself into an empty corner to avoid blocking anyone.

As everyone settles into their seats and grips the handles, the doors of the train shut, and the conductor announces the next stop. You let out a sigh, knowing it'll be another 20 or so stops before you reach Luofu…

Glancing back at your phone, your fingers tap onto it mindlessly, the cabin now quiet save for the occasional cries of children or chatter between friends.

Your gaze softens as a new notification pops up.

Aventurine (loser of a customer) is now saved into your contacts.

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Ding!

"Good evening to you again, pretty delivery lady."

[bruhstation]

steam team's seniors during their baby years

A friend group so weird and toxic to people they dislike it could rival It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia’s. They're not immune to the "I came to Sodor to avoid my problems and wanted a fresh start" trope many Sudrians also follow

Edward Pettigrew

Age: 31 as of 1984

A kind, friendly NWR railwayman who didn’t mind a lot of things and was popular amongst younger folks for his looks and demeanor. He likes showing newbies the ropes of the NWR and Sodor as a whole because he just loves infodumping. Despite being made fun of by some railwaymen for his “weirdness”, Edward worked hard and was known as the jack-of-all-trades by his peers, usually treating younger and newer railwaymen to drinks after work to get them accustomed to Sodor (he did this to Henry, then Gordon, then James). Originally from the village of Pezë in Tirana, Albania, 1940s. Due to his beginnings in a small rural village and the Albanian government’s censorship of outside influences and heavy restriction of traveling outside the country, Edward’s hunger for knowledge about the world grew more and more. His family had connections to the Lëvizja Nacional-Çlirimtare and Edward’s particularly bright and good at talking, so he became a diplomat to travel outside Albania – a step into his plans of learning more about the world. After landing himself in the United Kingdom and studying everything he wanted, he believes it’s still not enough. He found out about an island infamous for its supernatural occurrences and cases of people missing just off the coast of the UK – Sodor. Being the curious man he is, he discarded everything that’s needed for the LNÇ to locate him and landed on Sodor, gorging himself with every mystery the island has to offer. Impulsive? Yes. But for the first time, Edward felt true freedom. However, Edward got too curious and nosy and became a casualty in an accident fueled by supernatural hysteria related to Lady of the Legend and was transported around 40 years into the future, landing in 1983 with his memories all over the place. Despite losing his sense of self and having no idea what he is, his thirst for knowledge still lives on inside his head. His cheerfulness, amicability, and kindness are extensions he formed to make up for the hole inside his heart. Edward does love his friends, but he believes that if he can withhold information from them and make them all live in blissful ignorance, they can be truly happy – this all stems from his fear of exceeding his limits and being discarded (which he later copes by being a typical wise friendly old man in 1999). He often sees visages of Lady in his dreams.

Gordon J. Gresley

Age: 26 as of 1984

Joined after Henry. Looked like he was fresh out of a funeral. A young hotshot who was more polite, quiet, and reserved compared to his 1999 counterpart. Gordon started out as an apprentice fireman for the Wild Nor’Wester’s previous driver. He treated his arrival on Sodor as a desperate last resort to escape his issues and grief and pitifully believed he was “lumped with the social pariahs in the boonies”, but he’s gotten better and believed that this is where he can truly outshine everyone, much to the annoyance and chagrin of his seniors. Gordon acts like he knows what he’s doing in order to build up his image as someone who’s dependable and strong and revels in small basks of limelight. However, he was constantly uncomfortable with how Edward treated accidents as normal due to their survivors being in tip-top shape the next day and how Henry is so distrustful of and odd about everything and everyone and sweats 24/7, but he’s been masking and convincing himself that he’s not like the rest of them. He’s normal. He’s normal! Let’s all hold hands. Don’t be fooled by his sad face. Young Gordon can be arrogant and think he knows everything for being a youngin.

Henry Stanier

Age: 27 as of 1984

Joined after Edward, so he’s quite close to him. Gordon’s “senior” by 6 months. He’s always, ALWAYS scared endlessly about anything “out of the ordinary” and beats himself up over it, much to his own disgust. Henry had a deep rooted hatred and jealousy towards his peers for pitying him after a coworker revealed to other railwaymen that he’s narcoleptic without his permission. He’s been masking his disabilities despite it being detrimental for his well-being, but as long as people treated him “normally”, Henry would endure (dreadfully). He did this especially with Gordon, the newest addition to the Northwestern Railway at the time, because he didn’t want anyone else to treat him differently when they find out about his health issues. As an extention, Henry developed a vitriol towards Gordon too – he’s particularly jealous about how he’s so “ungrateful” of everything’s given to him like his fair looks, clothes, and position as the to-be face of the Wild Nor’Wester. They did become friends though despite the process not being easy. It’s okay. They became besties that were mean to old nosy folks. Initially wanted to pursue arts, but due to circumstances from his past related to his health and paranoia fueled by his past failures and “jinxes”, he came to Sodor as a half-hearted last resort to get a job. He wasn’t hopeful of having anyone respect him for who he is, but things do get better, much to his surprise.

James A. Hughes

Age: 25 as of 1989

Joined the NWR 5 years after Edward did. At that point, Gordon already discarded his GNR Green look and went for the blue attire (minus the big coat). Flaunts his beauty almost at any given time, especially when someone mildly complimented him. He’s more of a nerd (word used loosely because he acts like a know-it-all when he actually has no idea what he’s doing) compared to his canon, 1999 counterpart. James came to Sodor for a fresh start and believed he deserves more than what he’s given. He thinks he’s so tough and hard as nails – in fact it became his source of hubris because he gets into accidents and was scolded by his seniors for being so vain and stubborn. He doesn’t want to get dirty, he doesn’t want to shovel coal, he doesn’t want to get wet from the washdown suds – he only wants the good out of the work and doesn’t want to accept the “bad” sides as well, so James was branded as the “problem kid” of the NWR by older folks. James, who can’t handle harsh criticism and labels well, grow even more distant with them. He primarily hangs out with the RWS trio because they seem to understand his situation and the feeling of being “outcasted” (despite Gordon’s annoyance at his boastfulness). 

[bizbat]

All Wrapped up

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🐼JJK Masterlist🐼

~ Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

~ Explicit smut

~ Reader is alluded to be smaller than Bruce, but appearance is otherwise not described

~ Reader wears a dress and makeup

~ Partially based on these headcanons

~ You can find more of my works here

~ Wc: 3.6k

C/W: Smut, PiV penetration, Mdom, Healthy Dom/Sub dynamics (consent checks, aftercare, establishment of a safeword, etc.), Bondage, Oral (male & female receiving), Finger sucking, Fingering, Slight slapping, Spit, Face fucking, Slight humiliation, Praise and degradation, Pet names (Angel, Pretty, Baby, Girl/Good girl, Sir, Slut), Dacryphilia, Pussy job, Cervix fucking, Mating press, Slight Breeding, Creampie, Size difference

It's the holiday season, and what could be a better gift than you, all wrapped up in a pretty, red ribbon?

Bruce found himself collapsing into a plush chair, massaging his temples as he stared down into the crowd from his position on the balcony. He tugged at the neck of his fluffy, green, turtle neck, the one his wife, Y/n had begged him to wear. Apparently, they matched, as she was dressed in a gorgeous gown with a red, corseted bodice, and a flowing, green, tulle skirt.

As if sensing his dismay, Y/n climbed up the staircase leading to the balcony Bruce was hiding away on, her heels clicking against the marble floor alerting him of her presence. He didn't look up as she wrapped her arms around him from behind, the smell of her expensive perfume flooding his nose as she hugged him. He looked at her over his shoulder as she pulled away, taking in her appearance.

She looked perfect. He hair was curled and artfully pinned atop her head with ribbons, the bodice of her gown was tailored to her exactly, pushing her breasts up and together. It drew attention to her necklace that accentuated her neck, the gold bejeweled with bright red rubies that flattered her skin tone.

Y/n stroked Bruce's cheek with a gloved hand, a big, warm smile decorating her face as she kissed the tip of his nose, a smudge of lipgloss left in her wake. She giggled as he wiped it away with a cloth napkin on the table. Though, her smile dimmed a bit when she noticed the less than happy expression on her husband's face.

"I . . ." She looked down at the crowd of people over the balcony, people of all classes eating, drinking, and dancing together in the Wayne Manor ballroom. She had begged Bruce to throw a Christmas Gala, to have an open invitation so that it would be available to everyone, and not just the famous and wealthy, though now she could see that it really was begging to wear him down.

She ran her fingers through his hair, the perfectly slicked locks now wild from him running his hands through his hair multiple times. "Thank you, Bruce." She whispered, pressing her forehead to his. "I know you don't usually like these things, and you really didn't-"

"I wanted to." He cut her off as she began to ramble, a pout on her painted lips. "It's my gift." He stroked her chin with his thumb. "As long as you enjoy yourself, then I'll be happy."

Y/n nodded, though not fully convinced. Bruce hated galas, and parties, or public events of any kind, and he sacrificed valuable time so he could attend, and not just leave his wife to host it on her own. Y/n pressed her forehead to his once again, before hearing someone call her name from below. She turned to Bruce, who gave her his best reassuring smile, before quickly leaving his line of sight amongst the partygoers.

Bruce didn't see her the rest of the night, not even when the event came to an end and everyone began pouring out of the manor, gifts in hand. He had asked Alfred if he had seen her, but it seems the old man was just as clueless to her whereabouts as he was. Bruce tried not to think about all of the situations she could be in, his headache from earlier quickly worsening with every moment.

He was finally able to escape to his and Y/n's shared room once Damian and Duke were snug in bed, and the rest of his children were home for the night. He was still worried about her, though, as it was soon replaced with relief. And then, with arousal.

He found Y/n on their bed, her arms and legs constrained with a single red ribbon. In her mouth was another ribbon, preventing her from speaking as Bruce locked the door behind him, and traversed beside her on the bed, all while never taking his eyes off her. He chuckled to himself as he stroked her head, his eyes trailing her restrained figure.

"What is this, huh? Is this my gift?" Y/n nodded, her eyes wide as she stared up at Bruce's imposing figure, looming over her from the bedside. Bruce's fingers ghosted down her cheek before brushing against her lips, her lip gloss smudged and partially removed from the cloth ribbon between her teeth. He tugged the ribbon out of her mouth, replacing the fabric gag with his thumb.

His pants tightened as he watched her suck on his thumb without prompting. "Good girl," He cooed. "Such an obedient little slut for me." Y/n nodded around his finger, her eyes never leaving his as she circled his thumb with her tongue, hollowing her cheeks around the appendage.

Bruce pulled his thumb from her mouth, a string of spit connecting it to her tongue as she briefly chased after it. "You gonna be my good girl? Gonna use your words?" Bruce stroked Y/n's heir, the ribbons from earlier now absent. "Yes sir." She said, her eyes glossy and her cheeks and ears on fire. "Gonna be good. Gonna be your good girl."

"Then stick out your tongue for me, baby." Bruce commanded, leaning down and enveloping it in his own mouth when she immediately followed his orders. He palmed his stiffening cock through his pants. He hissed as he pulled away, unzipping his green pants and sliding them down just far enough to take his cock out.

He pumped his shaft to full firmness as he practically glared down at Y/n, watching as she bit her glossy lip in anticipation. He watched her squirm in her bindings, the red ribbon decorating her barse skin. It tied her wrists together in front of her, going down and tieing her knees and ankles as well.

Bruce groaned as he jerked himself off in front of his wife. "You gonna suck my cock pretty girl? Gonna make me feel good?" Y/n bit her lip so hard Bruce worried she might draw blood, as she rapidly nodded her head. Bruce brough his free hand down upon Y/n's cheek, just hard enough to sting. "Use your words, girl." He lightly squeezed her cheeks as he made her look at him.

"I wanna suck your cock, sir!" She wriggled around in her binding, her cunt growing slick as Bruce teased her with his cock. He smiled, brushing his thumb against his head, swiping off a bead of precum and pushing it between her lips.

He bit his own lip as Y/n tasted him. "That's it . . . that's my good fucking girl." Bruce straddled Y/n's chest, kneeling over her as he pressed his cock to her swollen lips. She opened her mouth wide for Bruce, sticking out her tongue as she waited for his permission.

Bruce rested his tip against her tongue, thrusting his hips lightly as pearls of his precum spread across her muscle, before pushing further into Y/n's mouth. He paused when she started to choke on his length, even though was only about halfway in. "Breath, baby. You can take it."

He grunted as she swallowed him deeper, breathing through her nose. "That's it . . . That's it."He held back her hair so he could see her entire face. "Just like that." He groaned, the warmth of her mouth sending a shiver run up his spine.

He continued to mumble praises as she took him deeper and deeper down her throat, his hips thrusting in front of her face. He began to increase his pace, his ears burning as the sound of his wife gagging on his cock filled the room.

Bruce held Y/n's head still as he fucked her throat, spit dripping down her chin and pooling across her chest, glossing her tits and slicking her lips. He grunted as his muscles tightened, a sign of his impending orgasm.

He pulled out of Y/n's mouth, rapidly pumping his shaft before thick, white spurts of his creamy cum landed on her face and waiting tongue. "Don't." He warned when he saw her begin retracting her cum covered tongue back into her mouth.

Y/n's face was on fire, humiliation coursing through her veins as the cum mixed with the excess saliva on her tongue and began to drip down onto her and chest. She whined, pleading for Bruce to let her swallow. "What do you want, angel?" He lightly tapped her cheek, reminding her to speak. "You said you were gonna be good. I can't do anything unless you tell me what you want."

"Wan'-" She huffed, trying to speak with her tongue sticking out. "Wanna swallow. Wanna swallow your cum, sir." It was unclear, but Bruce deciphered her words, laughing at her as she shivered, pleading with wide, tear-struck eyes. "Just stay there a little longer baby," he panted, stroking her hair. "I wanna get a good look at you like this."

She looked even better like this, her hair messy from laying against the pillows, her hardened nipples showing through the soaked, red ribbon that laid across her chest. Bruce bit his lip and groaned, his cock still painfully hard.

Y/n's thighs rubbed together in an attempt to stimulate her neglected heat. "Bruce," she whined, drool and cum seeping across her body the longer her tongue was out. "Please sir . . . please let me swallow." Bruce reached a hand down between her thighs, his fingers just barely brushing against her cunt.

"There's my good girl. Go ahead, baby, since you asked so nicely."

Y/n pulled her tongue back into her mouth, savoring the taste of the cum that hadn't slipped off her tongue and onto her tits. Bruce pressed firmly on her clit, circling it with broad, slow circles. Y/n whined again, pleading for him to increase his speed. Bruce, tired of her misbehavior, lightly slapped her clit. "Last warning. Either take what I give you, or use your fucking words."

Bruce hovered his hand over her mound, threatening to smack her again should she continue to misbehave. "I-I'm s-sorry sir, I'll be good!" Bruce thought for a moment. "Come to think of it . . . maybe you don't even deserve to cum, huh? Maybe I should just fuck your mouth and not your pretty pussy, leave you squirming, all tied up so you can't touch yourself."

"Is that what you fucking want?" Bruce stroked her lower lips, teasing her by not touching her clit. "No sir!" Y/n furiously shook her head, flexing her hips to try and get Bruce to properly touch her. "I wanna cum! I want you to fuck my pussy, sir! Please!" Bruce leaned down, his forehead pressed against her own. "Then be good."

He punctuated his sentence with a final smack to her clit, rubbing rapid circles against her pearl before she could react. Bruce watched her face, stray tears slipping down her cheeks as her mouth hung open. "How's that feel, baby? Am I making you feel good?" Y/n thrashed in her bindings, rutting her hips against Bruce's skilled hand.

"Ngh~ Feels good, sir! Feels so good!" Y/n huffed, panting as Bruce brought her closer and closer to her first orgasm of the night. Bruce smirked, his pressure and speed increasing ever so slightly, just enough to bring his wife to the brink of climax. Sensing her orgasm, Bruce leaned forwards, catching her lips with his own as his fingers finally pushed Y/n over the edge, never slowing down as he helped her ride out her orgasm.

Once he felt her juices leak Bruce ripped down the red velvet that his her soft mounds from his sight, leaving the ribbon tying her wrists together, doing the same for her legs, untying her knees but leaving her ankles as her pushed her legs apart. He pushed in two long, thick fingers, curling them against that spongy spot inside of Y/n, and watching her every slight reaction.

"Sir, please! I'll be good! I'll be good, just, please!" Y/n begged, her legs spread wide for Bruce, his palm rubbing her clit as his fingers skillfully thrust in and out of her warm, slick walls. "Please what, pretty? What do you need?" Bruce grunted as he kneeled above her, one hand between her thighs, one hand gripping the wooden headboard, the wood lightly splintering from his tight grip.

"I need your cock, sir! Please fuck me already!" Bruce chuckled, feeling her heat squeeze around his fingers. "You want my cock? You want me to fuck you like the little slut you are?" The sound of his palm slapping against Y/n's clit as he finger fucked her filled the room. The sound of Y/n's desperate huffs and moans was like music to his ears, the tears streaming down her face more beautiful than any original in his gallery.

A desperate "Yes sir!" slipping past her lips without her even having to think about it. Bruce smirked, continuing to finger her as he moved his thumb to circle her aching, neglected clit. "Almost pretty, almost. Wanna taste you first." Bruce released the headboard, holding both of her wrists in one, large hand. "Can you be patient for me, baby? Let me taste you?"

Bruce somehow further increased his pace, loud squelches echoing in the large room. "Fuck!" He groaned, feeling Y/n tighten around his fingers once again as she rapidly approached her second orgasm. "Come on, baby! Let me fucking taste you." He continued thrusting his fingers for a few more moments, quickly pulling them out when Y/n whimpered out a "yes, sir".

He let go of her wrists, ripping off his sweat soaked sweater as he moved to lay on his stomach between Y/n's legs. He flattened his tongue, licking a long, firm stripe up her soaking wet cunt. He wrapped his laps around her clit, sucking her nub before releasing with a wet 'pop'.

He lifted her thighs, shoving his tongue into her hole as deep as possible, before replacing it with his fingers. He carefully thrusted his fingers in and out as he returned to sucking her clit, curling them against her g spot as he listened to her moans and cries, the strong suction throwing her over the edge.

He didn't stop as more of her juices coated his chin and fingers, leaking down and soaking the sheets beneath her. He licked up as much of her essence as possible as she eventually came down from her high. Once he was finished, Bruce rose back up on his hands, capturing Y/n's lips with his, letting her taste her own juices on his tongue.

She moaned into his mouth, chasing after him when he inevitably pulled away from her. He shoved his pants down the rest of the way, kicking them across the room, before hovering over Y/n once again, pinning her wrists above her head as he lined his cock up with her hole.

"You want it, baby? You want me to fuck you?" Y/n pulled her lip between her teeth, her eyes magnetized to the space between the two of them. She nodded, whining when Bruce thrusted his cock against her, rather than inside her, selfishly using her slick mound to get himself off. "Look at me," Bruce gave her no time to comply, grabbing her face again as he forced her to keep her eyes on him, his cockhead catching on her clit as he thrust his hips.

"I need a yes or a no, pretty." "Yes!" Y/n's teeth released her lower lip, as she shouted, her skin swollen from the biting and kissing. "Yes, sir! Please, I want it! I want you to fuck me!"

Bruce lined himself back up with her pussy, smirking at her desperate tone as he prepared to penetrate her. "S'all you had to say, baby . . ." Without further warning he thrust his cock inside of her, stilling when he felt her tight walls begin resisting him. He threw his head back, a guttural groan escaping him as he entered his wife's tight walls.

"Shit, baby," He groaned, panting above his wife's body. He grabbed her wrists again, holding them above her head as he slowly began fucking deeper, her hole accepting him little by little, stilling again once he was fully inside her.

"Bruce . . ." Y/n whined, wiggling her hips. "Please, sir, want you to move." Bruce shallowly pumped his hips, his cock brushing against her puckered cervix. He looked down at her face, holding back a laugh when she wriggled and squirmed in his hold. "Sir, please!" She sobbed.

"All right, all right. No more teasing. You remember the word?" Y/n nodded, though, she quickly corrected herself. "Yes, sir, I remember." Bruce leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to her sweaty hearline. "There's my good little slut. M' gonna move now, okay?" He stroked one of her wrists with his thumb. "O-okay," Y/n warbled out, her head rolling forward at the feeling of being stuffed with Bruce's cock.

Bruce pulled his hips away, till only his tip remained inside, before slamming his hips forwards, stealing Y/n's breath from her lungs. His hips pounded hers, the sound of their love a beautiful cacophony that overwhelmed both of their senses. "How's that, baby? That feel good?" Y'n didn't respond, her eyes rolled back into her head at the feeling of Bruce's bruising thrusts.

He decided to be nice, continuing his firm movements, encouraged by the little gasps and moans that subconsciously escaped his wife. He made no effort to hold back his own noises, grunting and groaning as he pushed Y/n's knees to her chest, hitting deeper than what would be thought possible.

Bruce held her legs down with one hand, resting some of his weight on her as he continued to fuck her deeply, gripping the headboard again to give himself more leverage. Y/n pressed her hands to his chest, her fingernails digging into his skin. She needed something to keep her tethered to the world as he fucked her. She sobbed whenever he hit a certain spot, and Bruce made sure to brush against it with every thrust.

"That's it, baby! Take it just like that!" He grunted, his strokes firm, yet perfectly angled to hit her sweet spot. He groaned, his hand on the headboard shooting down to rub Y/n's clit again. He felt his own orgasm creeping ever closer as she squeezed his length. "Gonna cum on my cock, huh? Gonna cum on this fucking cock?"

At this point he was talking more to himself, as Y/n was very clearly not entirely all there, drool dripping down the side of her gaping mouth, and her eyes rolled all the way back into her skull. "You're such a perfect little slut for me. Oh, take it, baby."

The wooden headboard slammed against the wall at the force of his thrusts, and if he was less consumed with his wife's tight, wet flesh, he'd be more thankful that he'd had all of the rooms in the manor soundproofed. Nevertheless, he groaned, his blood running hot as he felt Y/n dig her nails into his skin, deep enough to leave angry, red crescents.

"That's it, that's it, that's it," He chanted, his fingers slicked with Y/n's juices as he circled her clit. "That's it, baby, cum on my cock!" Y/n sobbed, juices gushing around Bruce's cock as her walls gripped him, almost refusing to let him pull out, not that he wanted to. Part of this gift was going to be the feeling of his wife's warm pussy as he came inside her.

He wasn't too far behind her, the muscles in his thighs and calves tightening as he fucked Y/n's cervix, his cock twitching inside her as hot, white cum gushed out around his shaft. He slowly fucked Y/n, his thrusts becoming shallow as he cahased his high. He let her legs drop, massaging them as the blood slowly started to return.

Once he caught his breath, he pulled the bow tying her wrists together, raising his hand to her cheek, stroking it with his thumb as he once again rested his forehead against hers. They stayed like that for a moment. "How . . ." he cleared his throat, his voice slightly hoarse.

"How do you feel? Are you hurt anywhere?" He slid his fingers into Y/n's hair, gently massaging her scalp as he spoke. In turn, she ran her hands across his chest and shoulders, massaging his traps. "No," Y/n shook her head. "I feel good. How about you, how do you feel?" Bruce dropped his head to rest in the crook between her neck and shoulder, kissing her sensitive skin.

"Mm," He ran his hand over her side, inhaling her natural scent. "Good." Y/n smiled, wrapping her arms around Bruce's shoulders and pulling him down, encouraging him to relax and drop his weight. He did just that, though, he still held himself up with his elbows, careful not to crush his wife.

He dug one arm under her, scooping her up and rolling over to his side, so she was laid across his chest. She giggled, resting her head against her husband's strong body. "Did you enjoy your gift?" She looked up at him with warm eyes and a tired smile.

"I did," Bruce smiled down at her, his expression mirroring hers. "Did you?" She leaned up, pressing a sweet, short kiss to his lips. "I loved it." She whispered, her throat a bit sore. Nothing some tea with honey and lemon couldn't fix in the morning. "Wanna take a bath?" Bruce asked, stroking Y/n's bare shoulder as she sleepily drew circles on his chest. "In a minute."

Bruce nodded, exhaustion overtaking his massive frame. He played with his wife's hair as she drifted into slumber on his chest. He basked in the glow of their love, a warm, sappy feeling swirling around inside him and squeezing his heart. He would wake her later, letting her sleep peacefully, for now.

[saradika]

— BLEED FOR ME | part ii

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 3.4k

haunted hoedown prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 1 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death, shared memories, light angst

He fills the doorway, as silent as he was downstairs.

Lingering there as you try to keep your breathing under control. A second where you wonder if he saw, if he suspected - your hands clasped together on your lap to stay the tremor.

Preparing for his wrath.

Not ready for the way he waits, his low voice asking for your permission to enter the room.

For the way he comes quietly to you after - the glove that finally reaches, touches. Tipping your chin up again, like she had.

So carefully, a knuckle curved under your chin. As if he’s afraid you’ll break.

His helmet tilts, the smallest movements as he takes you in.

“You don’t have to do this.”

The Mand’alor’s voice is low - soft and distorted through the helmet. Not what you were expecting, but the words make your blood turn to ice.

Don’t have to do what? Your stomach churns as you think that he did see you - the twitch of your hand as you wonder if you could manage, if you could reach-

“I chose you,” His voice breaks the silence again. “But if you’re unwilling, I won’t feed. If it’s money you need, I’ll see that you’ve taken care of. I’ll find someone else.”

It’s so entirely unexpected. A nervous glance sent his way - and for a second, you wished there were eyes to meet. An opportunity to truly read him, for why would someone so heartless offer an alternative?

But you need him to take it. To take you - his armor shed and his defenses down, so you can put an end to this.

You deserved it, didn’t you? Revenge on the man who had stolen your home from you. The cozy life you had led, in the little cottage at the edge of the village.

It’s just a pile of stone, now.

Too much time had been spent getting to this moment for you to accept his offer, even as tempting as it is.

Because you couldn’t live here, surrounded in this finery. Playing a pet, while they depended on you.

The ones who had found you. Choking on smoke and half-dazed at the edge of the forest. Helping you up from where you were slumped against the base of that old, oak tree.

Swept until their wing after the destruction. There had been no place left for you, as the morning dawn creeped into afternoon.

You had barely escaped with your life.

And soon after, the plan was formed. If you could take down their leader, the rest would fall. Their whispers reeking of vengeance, sinking its talons into your skin.

Convincing you that you deserved it, didn’t you?

Uncertainty has kept you awake, in those days as you had thought it over. Because things could be rebuilt. The world was a vast place - you could start over.

But then they told you that this happened, often. That the vampires would crush small towns like yours, looking to feed. Leaving behind only silent memories and ghosts.

That is what got you. And it’s that thought turned into a knowing, a certainty.

You can’t let that happen to someone else.

Days of training turned into weeks, and then months. Then, a year.

Because it had to be you - there was too much history for any of the Slayers to do it. They’d be recognized a mile off.

Learning how they fight, until the weight of the silver dagger on your hip brought comfort.

“Wait until he’s distracted.”

“Do whatever it takes, just make sure-”

“Make sure you don’t trust him.”

“Not a single word.”

And finally, it had been time. You had three moons - until the winter solstice. After that, the vampires would keep inside for the Long Sleep, and not be seen until Spring.

If you did not complete your task in time, then you’d be trapped with them. If you succeeded too late, you’d freeze in the cold before you got far.

The sharpened piece of wood had been shoved into your hand, this morning.

“Run this through his heart.”

“Rip off his head. Burn him.”

“Trap him with the sun.”

Their advice hummed beneath your skin, as you had approached the castle. Your plans had been a heavy weight in your stomach, twisting with the unease at what you have to do.

To offer yourself up to a vampire was no mere feat.

But when that vampire was a Mandalorian, encased in that shining armor, it was all but madness.

It was no secret that he sought blood. That offerings were brought to him, almost always turned away.

No one could sate his thirst. He had paid no mind to the others that were ushered in with you. You had wondered if he could smell your deception, clinging to your skin.

But he had chosen you.

And if this is how you had to pay them back, you would.

Your head shakes, as you make your decision, "I… I am willing."

There's a second of silence, as if he wants to press. As if he's not sure, himself.

But then he's carefully tugging off the rust-tipped gloves, lowering himself onto the ottoman near the desk. Leaving the leather to rest on his thigh armor as his hands come into view.

You hold your breath.

But there’s no sharp claws, no blood caked under nails, no fur or scales.

It's just a hand. Tanned skin and human, as far as you can tell.

It eases some of the apprehension, though your heart still races from almost being caught. At the thought of this next part - the pain of the bite and the fire in your veins.

You had been told to be brave. To grit your teeth and work through it - that it was something you'd have to learn to bear, if you were to get close to him.

But the thought of it, that anticipation, has your muscles strung tight. It takes more effort than you'd like to admit for your head to tilt to the side, for you to bare your neck to him.

He takes your wrist, instead.

A large hand wrapping around, his thumb pressing against the place where your pulse pounds. Something hot and electric arcing through you at his touch, though his skin is cool against yours.

"Thank you." The Mand'alor tells you, and there’s a depth to his words as he's lifts the edge of his helmet.

Just to his nose, and no further. He's human here, too - a pretty curve of lips framed by dark facial hair. Your eyes linger, realizing this is a sight that near-none had seen. Curiosity sparking, until those lips are parting.

And the two sharp fangs come into view, instead.

It has you tensing, as his grip tightens - that thumb smoothing over your skin. Almost soothing in its movement, though you can't comprehend why.

"Just a pinch." He murmurs, "You'll be alright."

You huff a breath at his words just as his head dips down to your wrist - and then, he's biting down.

There's a sharp ache as his fangs pierce your skin, and you wait for more. For the feeling of being sliced open, the burn of the venom, for your bones to crack beneath his teeth.

But, none comes.

Just the sensation of pulling, the buzz of his mouth against your skin as he groans, deep in his chest. The sound sends heat to your cheeks, it feels too intimate a noise for someone you just met.

For someone so cruel.

The pain was no more than the accidental prick of a finger against a dagger. That brief pain soothed by the continuous sweep of his thumb. A strange sort of contented drowsiness passing over you instead, tempting you to close your eyes.

And then, you do.

There's flashes. The pulse of lights that glitter like stars, mimicking the beating of your heart. A snapshot of images, flickering briefly in your mind.

Some, you recognize. Your old bedroom, the garden outside. Tulips swaying in a summer breeze. A second later and it's tilting - crumbling beneath your steps.

There's a child, their eyes round and black. The flash of something black, crackling with a bright light. An ocean, beneath the ground - dragging you under.

A sensation of being lifted. The warmth of your cheek pressed against ice. A soft bed of grass, the bark biting into your shoulder.

The pulse in your throat drops down, down, down. Settling somewhere low, between your thighs. Your breath feels trapped in your chest, and when you let it loose, it's a soft moan-

You gasp, then - and your eyes are opening. He's pulled away, fingers smearing red across his lips - the peek of a pink tongue as he licks them clean. Hiding himself away again under the mask, as your wrist lies limply in your lap.

"You did well," He tells you, "I know that was a lot. It will get easier."

The images are still flashing in your mind. Ones that you know well blending with others. Had you been sleeping? Was more of your memory from that night unlocked?

There's a soft pressure against your wrist, and you jerk. Coming back from your thoughts, looking down to see him swipe a cream across puncture marks that were still raw and oozing.

An opened jar sits on the table, indentations in the pale salve where his fingers had been. Your mind feels hazy as you watch the way he works it into your skin - as the residual bit of throbbing wanes, the deep marks seeming to lessen before your eyes.

"They'll be gone in the morning." He tells you. There's a rough edge to his voice that wasn't there before, as he pushes himself up. Leaving the salve where it is, as his hands disappear behind the gloves.

Extending one though, to help you up. A little wobble to your step as you take it, as you let him guide you to the bed. It's soft beneath your touch, the mattress dipping as you sink back into it.

"Would you like anything?" The Mand'alor asks, "Food? Water?"

You feel... drained. Which is a humorous little thought, in your exhausted mind. A small smile, an echo of that low, thudding pulse as your legs push together, as you stretch.

"No, I'm just-" A yawn splits your face, coming from deep in your chest, "Sorry, just tired. It was a long journey."

It's easy to play the willing companion now, when you're fighting exhaustion. Your shields down with the promise of sleeping in a real bed, knowing you're not strong enough to fight tonight.

Tomorrow, you can try again.

"Of course." He stands at the foot of the bed. In your current state he almost looks awkward, with the cocked tilt of his hips. Looking as if he's ready to bolt, "I'll have Fennec bring you food when you wake."

Fennec. It must be the woman you met earlier. She had never given you her name.

Your nod is slow, a cracked open eye fixing on his helmet. In the light of the hallway he doesn't seem quite so big as he did before. Still broad, but you're no longer fearing what lies beneath.

"I'll be back tomorrow night." He tells you, "Not to feed, but to check on you."

You don't answer this time, already toeing the line of sleep. Missing the way he lingers for a long moment in the doorway. Before the heavy wooden door is closing, and you're left alone to dream.

Leaving you to wonder, as your eyes close - as you slip beneath the blankets, curling up. You knew he'd keep you alive. How else was he to feed?

But you never anticipated this, this...

This kindness.

You keep waiting for that veneer to crack - for that monster to be released. But it never does.

There is breakfast, the next morning. Then, lunch.

The skin on your wrist is smooth again by mid-morning, almost as if it never happened. A seamstress in your room by the afternoon, her eyes glittering as you’re measured for new clothes.

“You can’t be seen with the Mand’alor with only these,” Vera had all but giggled, a manicured finger flicking towards the small pack of clothes you had brought.

Too plain. Too worn.

You dress in soft linens now, in shades of crimson and slate. That brass rack along the wall filled to the brim with new finery.

Intricate beadings and rich fabrics and when the Mand’alor visits you that night, he’s quiet.

And with the new clothes, soon you do not look so out of place when you wander the empty halls during the day.

Unable to sleep while the sun is shining. Refusing to board up your pretty windows, to mimic a semblance of night.

You live stubbornly between two worlds. Out of sync from the rest of the castle for your first week. Bidding a good morning to Fennec as she eats her dinner. Skirting around her shadow - a broad man in dark green armor.

He no longer startles you, like he did in the beginning. Another Vampire Lord from across the sea, though there seemed to be no end to his visitation.

His eyes were always dark, always watching. He did not wear the helmet as the Mand’alor did - you would watch each expression flicker across his face, before it flattened.

A different kind of mask worn.

It has you curious, in spite of everything. Even though it takes you a few more days to pluck up the courage.

“Did Boba chose you, too?” You ask Fennec one evening.

Morning, for you now, you suppose. You have been trying, lately. The bread soaks into the dregs of your soup, as you swirl it along the bottom.

“In a ways.” She smiles. That rough edge softening over the days you’ve been here - her hackles lowering when it becomes clear that you were a little different than the others.

That you were the same you as you were before.

If only she knew in what way.

“It wasn’t like yours. And it was years ago.” She continues - an elbow digging into the wooden table, a palm cupped under her chin, “I was dying, and he found me.”

It’s not what you were expecting, the hunk of bread lying forgotten in your bowl.

“I suppose you could say he saved me.” A shoulder raises, and then drops, “I’d mistrusted someone. Slipped up, and found myself nearly gutted. No one could survive a wound like that.”

You don’t think you’ve take a breath since she started speaking - there was so little you knew about vampires. Only what you had been told, the bit you had gleaned from the books in your room.

“Boba found me, and he gave me a choice.”

“But,” You blink, “But you’re human, still?”

She ate, like you did. Did not stand with the same eerie stillness, not even taking a breath.

“He did not change me.” Fennec confirms, “But his blood healed me. And I’ve followed him since.”

“I did not… I did not realize vampires cared that much for humans.” You admit with embarrassment.

She gives you a knowing look, one that you do not understand. But a voice joins yours, low and laced with humor.

“We were all human, once. And you have not seen her on the battlefield, ad’ika.”

She smirks, as Boba fingers tap against the table, where he’s come to lean.

“Yes, it’s not my charming personality that has you keeping me around.”

He huffs a laugh, and there’s something like camaraderie between them.

A friendship.

It leaves you more confused than ever.

It’s morning, when he comes next.

The gentle knock at your door startling you awake. Most of the castle was asleep by now. You’re still trying to reset your internal clock - thinking that by now, you should be making an effort.

Not expecting him to be outside, as you pulled your robe a little more tightly around yourself.

It's been four days since he last fed, though you've seen him often in that time. The dip of his head when he passes you in the corridors. Watching him from the plush seats in the throne room - his helmet just barely tilting your way when he's not being spoken to.

You wonder if he's been watching you, too. If he thinks you will bolt - if he harbors any suspicions.

"Forgive me for not thinking of this sooner." He tells you, as you step aside to let him in, "I should have been doing this from the beginning."

"Doing what?" You frown, as you move to the bench by the window. A spot you've occupied the last two visits, preferring the wide bench to the narrow wooden desk chair.

"You're still getting used to this. Visiting you as the evening falls isn't helping you adjust." The Mand'alor explains, as you tug up the sleeve of your robe, baring the skin of your wrist.

His suggestion is thoughtful. As time has passed you've grown stronger, more used to the feeling. No longer sleeping right away, able to fight that sense of drowsiness.

It extends to the during, as well. If you concentrate hard enough, parts of those visions that flashed behind your closed eyes come into focus. And if you try really hard, the images fade to just sensations.

You couldn't explain if, if you tried. It certainly hadn't been something divulged during your training. In fact, a tiny part of you wondered if any of them even had knowledge of being a companion. Everything so far has felt... off.

Distorted by a degree, as if the road you were traveling had split, but still followed their path.

"You are the Mand'alor," You shrug, trying to brush off his consideration, "I am bound to follow your wishes."

He makes a sound, a low hum. It's as close to a laugh as you've heard, as he lowers himself to the bench next to you.

"I think we are past titles, seeing as I've tasted you." His voice is low, rough behind the helmet, "You may call me Din, when we're alone."

There's a heat in your cheeks at the innuendo, though he can't possibly mean it that way. His hands are already bare, fingers pressing against your skin. Feeling how your pulse had jumped at his words.

His helmet tips higher, this time. Resting on the bridge of his nose, his full lips on display.

It’s still too hard to watch - your eyes closing as he bites down. A small inhale of breath in anticipation, but you’ve gotten used to the impact.

Your eyes fighting to stay open this time, to stay in your own head. Unable to help risking a glance, then.

At the wash of red against full lips. The scruff of his jaw, the patch of hair missing - you imagine your thumb pressing against it.

Wondering if his face would feel like face, or it would be cool marble, like his hand.

His throat bobs, with the softest groan.

It’s natural, you tell yourself. You’ve groaned while eating the freshly-baked bread in the kitchens. Though it’s funny to think of yourself as the meal.

Idle fingers play with the edge of the heavy curtain, slipping through the fringe.

It’s then that the thought hits you. How distracted he was, at this moment.

How it’s morning.

How the whole castle is asleep.

Your fingers pinch down on the tassel. Testing the tension as you eye your desk, across the room but no more than a quick dash away.

All it would take is the slightest tug.

The morning sun would pour across his bare neck, the lower half of his face. Burning him, enough of a distraction that you could go for the stake. Fit it between his ribs, in that soft spot under his armpit.

You inhale a breath, to steel your nerves.

At the movement, his fingers stroke against your wrist. A means to soothe you.

And you find…. that you can’t do it.

Not right now. Not yet.

And this morning marks the beginning of that funny feeling that starts in your stomach. An unease, though it feels like you’re drowning in it.

Is it from wearing his colors? Is it your visions, or the echoing thud that tipped towards something carnal?

Is it because the thought of your revenge was so much easier when he was nameless?

Or is it because you’re still not sure what stayed your hand?

It’s not something you can think about, now.

You just need to play your part.

thanks so much for reading! 🥀💕 if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!

(tags: @dameron-grant-spector, @sugadolly, @writingsofestella)

[idontknowreallywhy]

Push

A little Flying Fish one-shot thrown down on my commute. Less plot, more vibes, but inspired the fact my tiny Scott keeps enduring this Situation:

And not at all that a certain someone not too far away may have tried to approach a certain thing in a certain way. Nope…

Featuring One Idiot Flyboy and One Wise Fish

💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛

“Better not let the Virg see you limping about like that old man.”

Damn observant squid. Scott immediately corrected his gait and strode purposefully into the kitchen.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Damn it.

Gordon followed, because GORDON.

“What? I just had a wrinkle in my sock.”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah ‘uh huh’. Now it is gone.”

“Course it is.”

Scott set the coffee machine running and for a few blissful seconds conversation was made impossible by the sound of grinding beans.

It also handily covered the noise of him cursing the entire physical therapeutic profession under his breath.

Sadly, between them Brains and Virgil had upgraded this to be the most efficient coffee-production mechanism on the planet, and the excuse was gone before Gordon got bored and left him alone.

Who was he kidding? Once the limpet latched on… a different tack was needed to scrape him off. And after all, attack is often the best form of defence…

“So, how’s your back after the super-sub rescue, Fish?”

“Getting there. I know the drill now. Slow and steady, just gotta be careful not to rush or over-extend it. The physio helps…”

Gordon had an eerie way of making an ellipsis audible.

“Good good, keep it up.”

“Thank you, Mr Motivator.” Gordon perused the range of noxious-coloured energy drinks in the fridge and in a clearly fake-casual voice threw the return grenade over his shoulder:

“How’s your physio going?”

“Fine. Good. Smashing it actually.”

“You don’t smash physio, bro.”

“I do.”

“Oh. Well, you’ll have to give me some pointers. For example, how to smash it so hard you appear decidedly more uncomfortable you did yesterday… I can tell by your posture - that ain’t no sock wrinkle, Scoots.”

Scott immediately stood up straighter and took a long gulp of scalding coffee to disguise the wince.

Gordon raised an infuriating eyebrow.

Scott eyeballed him impassively and took another swallow, just to make sure his throat lining was entirely obliterated. No point doing things by halves.

The raised eyebrow was replaced by an even more irritating expression of concern.

“Hip dislocations take a while bro… and your leg very nearly parted company with the rest of you… there was a lot of swelling in that joint. Give it time.”

Scott shrugged.

“Is all good, I’m nearly there. As soon as I get full rotation, I’m back in the air.”

“I knew it!”

“There’s nothing to know.”

“You’re trying to fast track it! It’s meant to be a GRADUAL extension of range! Faster isn’t always better, you great lanky donut!”

Scott didn’t have to listen to this. So he spun on his heel and made for the desk. He absolutely did not wobble and tip the rest of his coffee down his sleeve as his treacherous pelvis made a ridiculous fuss over nothing.

An even more treacherous part of his brain wondered if his little brother didn’t have a point. Scott threatened it with hyper-specific lobotomisation.

Little Mr Got-Straight-As-In-Physio slid under his shoulder and took a good proportion of his weight just as he stubbornly stepped forward again. Blinking frustrated moisture out of his eyes, Scott heartily wished it hadn’t helped as much as it did.

“Pretty sure you’re meant to use the crutches for a little longer yet too, huh?”

The groan escaped before he could stop it.

Gordon manoeuvred Scott to the couch. Scott’s right hip point blank refused to resist and the rest of his body meekly followed.

He dropped on to the couch, yelped, muttered a few words Grandma would have disapproved of and then stared mutinously at the ceiling.

He was so very Done with it all.

Little brother cocked his head to one side and then handed him a fluffy cushion. A hot pink fluffy cushion.

THE hot pink fluffy cushion.

He looked up at the one person who really and truly Got This. Gordon smiled and inclined his head towards the much loathed eyesore he must have brought up its home from the infirmary. Prescient little guppy that he was.

Scott glared at the cushion. Then pressed his face into it and screamed and shouted for what could have been thirty seconds or thirty hours.

Eventually he was spent. Taking a couple of shaky breaths he sat up and threw it with all his strength across the room. It hit the wall of the stairwell and dropped out of sight.

“Better?”

“Mmhmm.”

Gordon gently lowered himself on to the couch and looked down at his hands, slowly flexing his fingers, one by one.

“Sometimes I was so crushingly bored with all the teeny tiny increments… it felt like I was going backwards… so I’d push until it hurt. Like, really hurt. Because at least then I had something to fight. Then at least it would be interesting, you know?”

Scott nodded, quietly. Then rested his head on Gordon’s shoulder.

“Think I’ve made it worse.”

“Yeah. You’re an idiot. Runs in the family, I guess.”

Gordon ruffled his hair and Scott growled.

“You’ll get back on track, bro. Just might have made it a bit of a longer one.”

Scott couldn’t summon up anything more profound than a sigh.

“Y’know… I could always keep you company. When you’re doing the exercises, I mean. Could make a game of it or… or something. If you wanted, I mean… you don’t have to if it wouldn’t…”

“It would. I’d like that.”

“Cool. Team Hip Flexion is Go!”

Scott made a valiant attempt at the audible ellipsis thing.

“The Upright Knee Raise Crew? The Abduction Gang? Aaah I’ll work on it…”

For the first time in what felt like weeks Scott’s mouth twitched into a grin.

“I’m going to regret this aren’t I?”

“You can bet on it.”

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi! I love your writing style and I'd love to see your take on the villain's backstory as they tell the tale of their parent getting murdered by the king for having or using magic when it's banned. Have a lovely day :)

"Are you traumatised, little princeling?" the villain asked.

The teasing nickname felt more like a nightmare now; the memories awash with betrayal and gore.

They villain settled themselves down on the throne; all elegant menace and crackling power. The crown that formed on their head was a thing of magic, shimmering and uncanny, swallowing light. It matched the pitiless hollows of the villain's eyes.

The prince's jaw clenched, his breathing hard and ragged. Bile clawed up his throat. He pushed himself shakily up off the ground, onto his knees. He was surprised he got that far. His whole body trembled.

But everyone else...

"What are you waiting for?" he demanded. "You got what you wanted. Kill me too."

The villain smiled, faintly, and considered him. There wasn't so much as a speck of blood on them but the polished throne room floor and the prince's hands were slick with it.

"You didn't answer my question, little princeling."

The prince bared his teeth, but couldn't quite master diplomacy in that moment. It was all he could do not to scream, or cry. "Who wouldn't be? You - you-" He couldn't quite articulate the horror of it. He closed his eyes but the memories flashed through his mind all the same.

His body moving through the throne room on someone else's command. A puppet of a prince. A slaughterer.

The magic had felt so good while it ensnared him, even as it was saturated by the nauseous inability to stop, the terror, the merciless guilt.

"You're a monster," the prince rasped.

His hands curled into fists. In an instant he was on his feet after all, body broken, sword in hand as he charged towards the villain.

He got as far as getting the tip of his blade to the villain's throat, and then his body locked. He could not kill nor retreat, nor do much of anything at all. Frozen.

The villain blinked at him, lazily almost, as they tipped their head back like the sword was actually a threat. No. Not lazy. It affected laziness, but it was...

"I was traumatized," the villain said, in the same light and mocking tone of voice as before, "when your father killed mine."

Their eyes met.

The prince willed his hand to move, to cut, to kill.

He didn't. He couldn't.

"And that excuses all of this?" the prince managed. "I am not my father. I am not - I wasn't even alive - I would have -".

The villain could have waited, could have let an old man die with some dignity, could have taken a higher ground, and the world would have changed. The change didn't have to be taken in blood and pain.

The prince didn't even agree with the magic laws. Ever since he'd met the monster in front of him, he'd...

He'd heard bits of the story before. Not the king, but some random attackers in some village, and how the villain had escaped only because the attackers had thought them a child dead already. How the magic had saved them.

The prince had thought of phoenixes, then. He should have thought of the ashes.

The villain flicked a dismissive hand and the magic curling around the prince yanked his arms back behind his back, roughly, forcing him to let go of the blade. It hit the ground with a clatter.

The prince landed on his knees, a stifled cry of pain on his lips, tears stinging in his eyes. Not for the hurt of it, not for that small bit of control, but all the rest.

The villain settled a clean hand atop the prince's disheveled head, like a cruel and gentle benediction.

"Of course," the villain said, as if the prince hadn't spoken, "he didn't do it personally. A man like your father never bloodied his own hands when he could use someone else's. It was his guards. He..." The villain wet his lips, "watched though. I think it made him feel strong, killing magic users. A man-god, clinging to his false power, when he'd never even tasted what real magic felt like. Real power."

The villain's gaze flicked almost idly around the room, around all the royal guard - the prince's friends and mentors and protectors - who the prince's puppet body had killed.

The prince swallowed. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't.

The magic, that taste of real magic, still swirled around him. Oppressive and heady and awful and enticing. Dangerous.

The villain's attention fixed on him again. They caressed the prince's cheek as the prince shuddered.

"So, you understand, that if this was personal, it was only personal in the way that it was personal to your father," the villain said softly. "You were born to this and it was always going to be your fate."

"Then kill me for what I was born for. Be just like he was!"

"I did think you were just like him when we first met." The villain's hand moved down further still, wrapping almost curiously around the prince's throat. "But you've proven quite interesting. Not enough to change anything, but..." the villain shrugged.

The prince flinched, recoiled. "I wish I'd been more like him. Then I would have killed you before you ever did this. Before you even got the chance!"

The villain laughed. The sound didn't reach those eyes. The prince had seen the sadness in them, the loss, and he'd thought...well, it all felt stupid what he'd thought, with all the devastation behind them, with that terrible crown twinkling abyssal night atop of the villain's head.

The prince had been told since the moment he was born that magic was dangerous, that magic users were too dangerous to live. He'd thought there was a middle ground. He'd thought that it couldn't be all of them.

Maybe it wasn't all of them. But maybe it only took one. Maybe that was what his father had known when he'd ordered the deaths of two palace gardeners and their five year old.

The hate tasted like rot and hellfire in his mouth, but it felt better than the grief. The howling pit of what he'd done. Of what the villain had made him do.

"I should have killed you." The tears came then; wracking, poisonous things that he didn't want the villain to see and enjoy, but which he couldn't quite stop. "I should have killed you before you killed all of them."

"You know, my little princeling." The villain pressed the prince's head against their lap; a gross caricature of comfort, and bowed their head down too to whisper. "I remember thinking exactly the same thing. Look how far we've both come."

[rise-my-angel]

How people hear the logo "fire and blood" and not think of fascism baffles me. Like it literally sounds like something the nazi's said. I know it might not be fair comparing real life history to fiction, especially in a medieval setting that doesn't match ...BUT THEY HAVE FLYING NUKES GUYS

Bear with me, but I think a lot of it stems from the dragons. In normal, or at least traditional fantasy, dragons are usually used differently in other stories. They can both be antagonists and companions to the hero. They are normally written to be while large and dangerous, also sort of majestic and awe inspiring.

So people see the dragons here, they see people riding them, and they think automatically it's cool. So if you're already someone more inclined to enjoy creatures like dragons, there's a perfect basis. A people whose culture revolves around dragons. It's an easy buy in to the Targaryean propaganda. You will automatically start seeing them in better lights because you like the dragons, whether you realize that or not.

But the problem is, grrm does not use dragons in the traditional sense. Grrm has been very clear that he has written the dragons as essentially, one for one metaphors to weapons of mass destruction. Grrm is also very anti war, a sentiment felt throughout all of his work, how no matter what justification one side or the other feels, it is the people, the lands, the smallfolk who suffer from war the most. So, the use of nuclear weapons in war, is essentially, the worst case scenario in terms of war. Which is what the Targaryeans use dragons for. Thats what Valyria has always used them for.

Fire and Blood sounds cool beacuse it is menacing, but it is more then that. It is the statement that they will burn the country to the ground so they can be kings of the ashes. Valyria used dragons to burn cities to the ground and were incredibly cruel to the slaves they took as a result that places like Bravvos are still massively anti dragon/anti valyrian. Two seperate people of Essos fled across to Westeros to escape them (The Andals and the Rhoynar), then the Targaryeans come to the same place and do THE EXACT SAME THING TO THE SAME PEOPLE WHO FLED THEM ORIGINALLY.

I am certain grrm is not writing dragons as "Its actually okay to use nukes if you're nice to them when you're building them." He's probably more likely to say "no matter what justification you tell yourself, access to such catastrophic destruction at your will and fingertips is a power no one should ever wield."

Yes the dragons are sentient creatures, but these are not like a creature such as a direwolf. One was sent to their human companion by a fate beyond them, and acts more like an extension of their identity and a friend as human and direwolf protect each other. Such as Nymeria biting Joffery to protect Arya, and Arya chasing Nymeria off to save her life for saving hers.

Dany murdered her own slave in order to use blood magic to force dragons back into a world after a peaceful number of centuries without them. Dany then uses them to burn her enemies alive, threaten those who stand against or disobey her and doesn't even consider taking steps to control them until after Drogon burned alive an innocent three year old girl, and even then all she does is lock them away in a manner that will no doubt only make them more angry and resentful of humans.

Not all sentient creatures are the same, and dragons specifically within the world of asoiaf are symbols of the dangerous balance of the world tipping too far. The Doom of Valyria was the result of using blood magic and dragons to tip the worlds balance too far and there is nothing left but a cursed, blighted hellscape left behind to remind man not to toy with nature in ways they will never be able to control. I don't think it's a coincidence that some stories say they found the first dragons in the Fourteen Flames, and it was the eventual eruption of the Fourteen Flames that destroyed Valyria and its dragons.

The Targaryeans didn't need to die with them, it's probably good that at least one family managed to safely leave so at least some aspects of a long, forgotten culture can be remembered in the history books from somewhere. But they do not act like just people. The Targaryeans still see themselves as something like gods.

In their eyes, they are better then the people of Westeros, those people taint their bloodline. They used dragons to force them to be subservient to them when all of those Kingdoms ruled independently for thousands of years before. Then they used those same dragons to tear the country apart.

No one is looking forward to or likes talking about the storming of the Dragonpit beacuse we want to see animal death. We want to see it for what it stands for. An uprising of people pushed too far by a monarchy that uses weapons of mass destruction recklessly beacuse they see themselves as gods. They refused to be subjected to that anymore, and they knew doing it would kill more men then it would dragons but they did it anyways. They looked at the free use of nuclear weapons and decided they will not live in that fear anymore.

Fire and Blood is literally their dragons. It is why they call themselves dragons. They are the destruction of the world, and they see nothing wrong with that.

Dragons plant no trees, and neither do the Targaryeans.

[yaut-jaknowit]

The Moon Will Shine On Us Again

Pairing: Gawtin (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3512

Warning: slight gore, gun shots, blood, reader is injured.

Summary: There's a knock on your door. No one should be here, let alone at your door and wanting entrance. The mother and her knew born needed to be protected. You weren't going to let them be fed to the wolves. You grab your gun and face whoever is at your door. Deadly force is needed.

Author Note: From high demand. Glad you guys are loving it! Don't worry all! Here's the second part. I might also write a third part as well. Thank you for the support as well! Greatly appreciate it.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 (you're here)

This had quickly become a life or death situation. On the outskirts, you didn’t know why you were willing to stick your neck out. Someone wanted the mother, wanted her either dead or alive. They had tracked her through the forest of your property and all the way up your cabin. A place deep in the forest. Not somewhere a person would just stumble across.

In its bony cage, your heart pounded, on the verge of escaping and flopping around on the ground. To steel your nerves, you clenched your teeth together and tip-toed out of the room. The door was closed behind you, to seal away what evidence you could. Anything to give the mother more time to escape… if it came down to that.

What were you doing?! You barely know how to use a gun, let alone the one in your hand! And if those people were able to down a creature of her size and threatening nature, you shuttered. What would they do to you?

Here goes your life. You pushed off of the bedroom door and walked over to the door. Every creaky floorboard you knew in the place was missed in each step. You didn’t want them to know you were coming towards them, just in case; nor let them know someone was inside. Despite your truck parked out front, maybe they’ll believe either the creature killed you or you’re off on the property.

A few steps from the door, on the edge of the living, you stood with your loaded gun. The weapon shaking in your hand.

“Open the door!” a male voice demanded from the outside and pounded on the door. A lump instantly formed in your throat. “We know its in there.” Your eyes widen, breath catching. Everything changed at the man’s words. If they knew… they also knew someone, a person, was inside too, harboring her. You forcefully swallowed the lump and flicked off the safety. Then, you readied yourself for whatever action they take next.

A muffled of exchanged words came from two people. The door groaned and rattled from a powerful strike. You stumbled back, legs hitting a chair in the living room. Another bash against the door.

Unfortunately for you, the wood that made up the door was twice as old as you. It’s seen better days, been through horrid winters and soaking summer. The third hit caused the wood to splinter and give, leaving a mess on your once clean floors. You bristled and aimed the weapon in hand at the first figure you saw through the broken door. “Leave!” you shouted at the top of your lungs, voice, thankfully, not cracking from the force.

Yet, the weapon wasn’t true in its aim. The barrel twitching from the nerves controlling your hands. “Get the fuck off of my property!” You probably weren’t the most scariest thing on the block. Just a lone person who draws for most of their free time, holding a pistol but shaking too much.

Two people stood on your red porch, each holding a rifle of their own. Other weapons that you didn’t pay attention to adorn their body. One was wearing a ski mask of sorts, reasonable for the weather. Said man raised a brow and chuckle, shaking his head. “What are you going do? Shoot us?” he scoffed, brushing off the threat of you pointing a gun at them.

The other figure, dress similar but only had a cloth covering hi nose and below laughed with his partner. Then, they stopped at the same time, becoming stern. Ski mask guy took a step into the house, head scanning around. “Nice place you have here-“ his gaze fell back onto you “-shame if anything happened to it.” You swallowed thickly at the threat.

“Now, let’s stop this boring banter. Where is it? You give it up, you’ll get a fat paycheck to stay quiet, and you won’t get a bullet to the head. Fair deal?” the man with the neck gaiter offered, voice honeyed but uncaring. It felt like it didn’t matter the option, they’ll happily put you down.

Your chest start to hurt from how hard it pounded. Is this where you died? For an unknown creature who is a mother? What has your life become? You shook your head and steeled your grasp on the weapon. “Last warning: get out of my house!” you voice nearly wavered, about to show your true emotions. Though, you could bet a hundred dollars they already knew.

One of them snorted, the other shrugged his shoulders then raised his rifle. Before he had a chance, knowing they would kill you if you didn’t shoot first, you pulled the trigger. Despite being a pistol, you weren’t prepared for any knockback it gave. Your aim definitely wasn’t true.

That didn’t stop you. Both of them ducked down, not expecting you to fire first, but you didn’t stop. Bullets flew violently through the sky, possibly hitting their marks or not. In all honesty, you shot blindly at the two.

Once the ringing in your ears stopped and the trigger just clicked, empty, you dropped your arms. Each man was collapsed on the ground. One had a large pool of blood around him, body lifeless on the stained wood floor. His other partner was shakily breathing, gasping for air.

The pistol was promptly dropped. Your hands covered your mouth as you stumbled away from the murder scene you had created. Sobs raked your fragile body. What had you just done?! Your back met some soft. The couch. You rested heavily against, blankly staring at the two men on the floor. Blood. From bullet hole you caused from shooting them, killing them. You… oh my god.

Tears poured down your face. You couldn’t believe what you had just did to two people. Yeah… they weren’t nice people, they wanted to hurt a mother… whatever she is. They had hurt her already. And they wanted to hurt you, kill you. Silence you about this situation.

Why?

The question of the year: why?

In the haze of you distraught, you held onto what sanity you had left. Your body was shaking worse than leaf in the aftermath. Either from the adrenaline… or something else.

As the powerful chemical waned, you hissed at the pain in your thigh and glanced down. A dark patch stained your pants. Blood. Your legs nearly gave out at the sight. They shot you! “Fuck!” you cursed and clutched onto the couch tighter. Your thoughts were far too wild to comprehend. What do you even do?! You sobbed harder, on the verge of a total breakdown.

Through the fog and craziness of your thoughts that drowned out nearly everything, you heard the tall tale sign of the floorboards. You spun around, ready to face your attacker. But it was just the humanoid creature. She moved softly, not as if she was scared, but mindful of her steps and movements. Or like she knew what she was doing.

All you could do was watch as she, without the green, sticky blob, stepped up to your trembling form. Her piercing, purple gaze scanned over you, from head to toe. From there, she stops on the blood coming from your thigh. The wound hurting worse over time. The mother peered past you and observed the scene behind you.

She must have deemed it safe and turned her gaze on you. As the seconds ticked by, you couldn’t handle the weight on your injured leg. The couch became your crutch. A motion she easily notice.

A hand wrapped around your wrist, easily engulfing the limb, nothing more than her holding a stick. The mother tugged you towards her before dragging you along, back towards the bedroom. Unable to think straight, you aimlessly let her take you back to the room and had you sat down on the bed. The bed, a usual comfort, did nothing to sooth you.

You began to curl up, closing yourself off, legs drawing up to your chest despite the pain. Your hands gripped at your hair and tugged on the strands. “I killed someone… I killed,” you murmured to no one in particular.

“Oh my god!” Your head whipped up and found the mother’s eyes on you. “I killed them! I-I… what have I done!” Then, you tried to get off of the bed and pace. But a sturdy hand held you back down. She grunted and squeezed your shoulder. ‘Stay.’ How could you stay?! You fought against her.

“No! No-no-no-no-no! I killed them. They’re dead. I shot them. Oh my god, oh my god.” The grip tightened but you brushed off the touch mentally. Everything in your body itched to be on your feet, moving, pacing, doing something. You had to do something. You killed people! How could you?!

A short snarl barely caught your attention long enough to shatter your world. “Quiet!” a deep, guttural voice demanded silence. Your lips sealed shut. She just spoke. This humanoid figure that wasn’t from here… spoke.

Pain raged in your leg, the first thing you noticed. You gasped and sat up too quickly. Stars danced along your vision, everything disoriented now. A groan sounded low in your throat as you tried to figure out what was what. Yet, the throbbing in your leg made it hard to think. Why was it… You gazed at your exposed legs and the white bandage snuggly secured on your thigh.

Okay, why are you not wearing pants? Why is there gauze on-you killed two people! You gasped harshly enough to make you start to cough.

A glass of water was passed to you. You mumbled your thanks and sipped from the cup. Wait! Your head snapped to gaze at the green figure standing next to you. She towered over you. More than usual. You were on the bed. You groaned and clutch at your head as all this information was far too overwhelming. That didn’t stop you from downing the water, body dehydrated.

You take a chance to glance up at the mother. In her arm was cradling the little child she had birthed earlier. Its cries have been soothed, possibly sleeping after such a harrowing event for itself today. Honestly, you were shocked she hadn’t slept after birth. From what you’ve heard, it takes a lot out of you. Makes sense when you bring new life into the world.

Nervously, you scratched the back of your neck. “Thanks… for the water,” you spoke your gratitude, knowing she wouldn’t respond. It hit you right then and there. You had no pants on, nothing! Even as it pulled at your aching leg, you snatched a blanket and covered your exposed bits to her. Thankfully, she decided to leave alone your underwear.

Everything started to come back to you in small bits before the puzzle was put back together. The two men killed by you; the bullet hole in your leg, the fact she spoke. She spoke!

The mother dipped her head minutely. “You are welcome,” she said in a low voice with a lot of timbre. It sounded like she struggled to get the words out. A person who didn’t have the vocal cords to speak the language. A short thought of what her language sounded like came mind, but you brushed it off.

Despite already hearing her speak before, your brain short circuited again. It took you a moment to shake off the shock and look the mother in the eye. “Y-you speak?” Instantly, you cringed. That sounded horrible. “Sorry,” was your next word to save your hide from her. All she did was raised the one brow with five gems studded into her skin.

“I do speak. Learning ooman is not a rarity.” The more she spoke, the more you learned her different speech pattern. It was more formal, slow and a little unclear, but like a queen talking with her subjects. Who or what was she?

But ‘ooman’? That didn’t slip past your attention. It dawned you on. Human. Strange way of saying it but you weren’t going to bring that up.

The child in her arms gave a tiny squeak and lightly shivered in her hold. Before you realized what you were doing, you were offering the nearest blanket to the mother. Said cloth had been covering your exposed legs. She looked at the fabric for a moment before taking it. Carefully but skillfully, she wrapped her newborn in the blanket and kept the child cradled close.

While she did that, you used another blanket to cover up your legs. Once the three of you were settled, you stared at one another. For what reason, you couldn’t figure out. But, deep down, you were intrigued, despite all that has happened.

What now? What happens now? You killed two people. What made the guilt inside of you twist like a rusted blade was the idea of how to get rid of the evidence. How to make it look like these men never came here, never came after her? With all the bullet holes and blood probably stain not only your wood floors but the carpet too… what are you going to do?

A might palm captured your shoulder and gave your torso a shake. “I give you gratitude, ooman. You are unlike the rest of your race.” Past experience hung heavy in her words. A chapter that didn’t need to be opened. Not now. Her hand slipped off of your shoulder.

Her words made you think. Race. That solidified the idea she wasn’t human, not at all. “What… are you?” you muttered and bowed your head. You desperately hoped your words wouldn’t offend her in anyway. A chaste chitter that reminded you of a laugh sounded from her. You took that as a good sigh and raised your head.

“I was waiting for that… question.” She paused there and slowly blinked, eyes looking down at you. She was thinking of something in her mind then relaxed slightly. You saw the slight twitch when the move pulled at her own wounds. “I cannot say much but you did protect me and my suckling. You have earned my respect. I am a Yautja. An alien.”

For some reason, your heart swelled at the knowledge of knowing you had her respect. To know that a dangerous looking alien-alien! Oh my god! An alien! You, what… Your jaw dropped but not a sound came from you. This meant, aliens were real. Completely real. And you had just helped one not only give birth but protected them. You covered your mouth and tried to reel in this new information. An earthshattering discovery.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and took a deep, stuttering breath. “W-what’s your name?” She tilts her head, a little to the side, to look down at you with an inspecting eye. Said gaze flickered to the bundle in her arms. Her expression softened at the sight then she looked back at you, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I am called Gawtin.” You hummed thoughtfully and lightly bobbed your head. To be polite, you returned the gesture which she acted indifferently. Not that it bothered you.

Silence engulfed the two of you. Yet, the throbbing in your leg didn’t wane. It burned. You worried at your bottom lip until blood spilt. She huffed, like she could taste the blood in the air… Wait, could she? She was alien. Her physical make-up could be completely different. You just shook your head side to side and rid of those thoughts.

There were more pressing matters at hand.

Your gaze looked back up at the massive… Yautja, Gawtin before you. “What happens now?” It was a necessary question that needed to be answered or some closure. Look at where you were! Two dead people in your cabin in the middle of nowhere with an alien and her baby. There was a bullet hole in your thigh as well, an injured gained from defending not only your property but the mother.

She took a moment to carefully plan her next words. “Endless possibilities. Due to the honor code, I am bound to you until my debt is paid, but I must return to my home world with my child. I must gather all of my armor and weapons stolen from me by your ooman government.”

This was a lot of information that made your brain fuzzy to think of all the possibilities. Honor code? Home world? Retrieving her items? Your government? What does this all mean?!

“You are not safe here. You will come with me. Your ooman government will send more. I cannot allow you to get… injured-“

“What are you saying?” you interrupted her without meaning any harm. All you needed was a dumbed down version.

The Yautja gaze a shortened growl. Your lips tightened against one another. Lesson learned. “You will come with me. I must protect you until the debt is paid,” she stated gruffly, as if it a chore to keep you alive. She had mentioned an honor code, meaning she has to follow rules. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t chosen to just kill you and be on her way.

Your brows furrowed. “Go with you? But why?” you sputtered and tried to turn onto your knees and face her. But the wound on your thigh wouldn’t allow you. Shit. You weren’t in good shape.

Gawtin leaned down to get close to your face, making sure her point finally struck you. “Your society frowns upon murder, does it not? Those two s’yuit-de are dead because of you.” Your face paled at her efficient words.

Prison. Murder. She was completely right. No matter how you spun it. You had killed two people. All the evidence would show you as murderer then sent straight to prison, locked up for life.

Now, you had two choices: prison or Gawtin. Prison was a lifetime of four concrete walls and survival. Gawtin… she was an unknown but couldn’t hurt you. Wouldn’t? She couldn’t due to her ‘honor code’ but what about wouldn’t. If the debt was paid, would she slaughter you where you stood. Was that better than prison?

As you gazed upon the muscular alien who waited for you to speak next, the choice was obvious. Timidly, you nodded your head. Gawtin scoffed. “Glad you agreed willingly. I am not above dragging you though.” Just something freely she stated, as if it was normal.

She stood back up to her full height, reminding you on how big was compared to your smaller form. “Gather what you deem necessary. We need to move,” she spoke and left the bedside to exit through the door. A door she had to lean down to get through.

You listened to her words and slide off of the bed. Pain shot up your leg and almost sent you to your knees but locked a knee helped. Through the aching, you limped around the room and place clothes in a small duffle bag.

At the entrance of the bedroom door, you stopped. Off to the left was your sketchbook and pencil. An item you couldn’t leave behind. It too was placed into the duffle bag. Now, you were prepared for wherever the mother was going to take you. You walked out of the room but paused at the overwhelming smell and sight slapped you right in the face.

It took every ounce and more of your being not to bend over and puke out what was in your stomach. She, Gawtin nonchalantly stepped over the bodies and left through the front door. To save yourself the trouble, you spun on your heel and escaped through the back entrance. Anything not to come close to the… mess you created.

At the front, Gawtin waited with her child still wrapped in the blankets from before. A chill was powering over the forest air as the sun was already falling again. Damn the mountains and winter. Thankfully, a jacket was wrapped around your torso to fend off the chill.

The alien looked down at you, eyes scanning over your body before giving a minute dip of her massive head. “We shall head towards the base. I must gather my supplies back before we find my ship and leave this c’jit planet,” she snarled towards the end. You couldn’t help but feel hurt and a need to defend your planet. But with one look at her stopped you.

All you could do was nod. Even though many questions were stuck to the tip of you tongue, never leaving, never asked. In good time, they’ll be answered. With the way she spoke, like it was complete fact and part of her fate, you weren’t going to argue with that.

One last look down at you, she turned and began the trek. Her strides long, powerful. Every one was nearly three for your own. With the pain in your leg, you didn’t how long you were going to last. This was your choice to live with now.

[ackerfics]

my love is mine all mine ch 1 | toji fushiguro x female reader

part one of to the girls who are failed by the narrative series.

series summary:

'the glorified womb', 'the heir bearer', 'the blessed flower of the jujutsu society' — they are just some of the titles given to the women of your mother's clan, and all of them eventually fell to you, the prodigal firstborn who has the misfortune of birthing someone who will be stronger than their predecessors. with the fate of someone's clan on your shoulders, there are only a handful of things told to you while growing up; be as demure as you can be, never open your mouth and squash your thoughts, sit with a posture befitting that of a lady wearing an invisible yet heavy diadem. but the one that rings the most goes like this: your only purpose in this world is to be a silent wife to a man who will give you the opportunity to carry the next generation of powerful sorcerers. you remember all of these as you walk toward zen'in ogi in your uchikake, the constricting material around your waist akin to the gripping hold of your cursed technique.

and in fate's funny little ways of fabricating legacies and stories, you forget them when you are spirited away by the man who always welcomes the coming of the seasons with you without fail.

chapter title: their redness talks to my wounds

warnings: objectifying women, misogynistic beliefs, pregnancy, miscarriage, stillbirth, death, sexual assault/r*pe (but not to reader)

Each time a girl is born in your mother’s clan, a festival is held — flower lanterns drifting in the inky sky, bells ringing each passing second, and rhythms of geta filling in between the beats of the taiko. It is believed that your mother’s family was kissed by the deity of fortitude and fertility; very much like how the Mother and Father of the Shinto gods created the islands of Japan and brought forth a new wave of deities, the womb of the Hanamo clan will bring an heir to a dying clan. When the inheritance of The Glorified Womb is successful, all of the clans gather to get a glimpse of the future Lady of their estates and bid on who would welcome her to their gates. The festival is both a moment of celebration and sending off.

It’s the start of a new era and it is all ignited by the birth of a little girl whose body is blessed by a flutter of Izanami’s forefinger. 

You were told that your festival was the grandest of all the events thrown by your family. No one anticipated the weight carried by your first cry. You weren’t there to witness it but the maids who brush your hair constantly tell you that when you announced yourself to the world like the coveted little Lady that you are, all of the flowers coloured the grounds of the estate with the reverse cursed technique innate in your mother’s bloodline and the utilisation from your father’s. They said that it was the moment the entire Jujutsu world stood still, holding their breath; offers were made, compromises were presented on the table, bounties continued piling on your little fragile head — and you weren’t even a day old. You were the product of a fruitful union between the Hanamo and Joushou clans, they said, a little doll to flaunt and to cradle until a worthy man comes to take you away as his young bride.

You don’t understand it until you accidentally nick yourself while marvelling at the beauty of the blossoms in the gardens of the main family’s house.

The blooming red on the tip of your finger fascinates you, the drops nourishing the soil underneath the carnations intermingling with the short redbud trees. Pain doesn’t even come to you as you tilt your head to follow the trickle of blood on your forefinger, the lines on your palm seeping with the most perfect shade of red you’ve ever seen. The flowers speak to you with the more time you spend letting your blood escape through your skin. You can hear them more — all asking the same set of questions that you pay no heed to. Are you alright, young Lady of the House of Purity? Do you need us to carry you in our petals? Does it hurt you? Who dares soil the most-yearned young Lady? They deserve to shrivel. You don’t notice the foliage of the shrubs going past their trimmed appearance to engulf the bundle of roses right in front of you, threatening to swallow the poor plant whole for hurting you. You’re about to place your bleeding finger in your mouth, curious about the taste of it, when the maids shriek behind you.

“Ojou-sama!”

Your hair follows the movement of your head as you turn around to meet their frantic mannerisms. “Hmm?”

“Oh, my Lord!” One of them swoops down to where you are, unravelling a ribbon from her yukata to wrap around your wound. She then scoops you from the ground, her hand holding the back of your head as gently as possible. “What are we going to tell Yoshiki-sama?”

You place your head on the maid’s shoulder, your eyes catching the retreating shrubbery trying to touch you with their fingers. Slowly, you lift your head to get a good look at them, opting to just wave your small, pudgy hands at the leaves and the twigs and the bark. Curious; they almost waved back. But you discern that it is a product of the gentle breeze entering the large gardens. After all, plants do not talk, at least not in the storybooks the caretakers and maids act out for you. The women around you keep on talking as if you aren’t there nestled in between them.

“Is it bad of me to think otherwise?”

“Mari, his daughter is injured!”

“But he will punish us if he finds out!”

The maid carrying you tightens her hold around you. “Even if the heavens ring malice over us peasants, I would gladly inform the head of this house of anything regarding his prized kin. Mari, I thought you were better than that. We are hired to protect Ojou-sama with every inch of our being.”

A hitched breath comes from the other maid. “Don’t you dare drop my name when you speak of this to Yoshiki-sama!”

“If he brings up the subject of the witnesses, I would speak with utmost honesty.”

The maid whisks you away. It is only when she passes by Mari-san that you take a good look at the troubled countenance wrapping around the worried maid. You don’t know the hierarchy around the household but you definitely know your father is the highest-ranking person here, judging from how people speak of him. You surmise that the maid holding you as if you’re the most fragile thing on the planet is higher in rank than Mari-san and that probably makes her sad just like now. Intending to make her smile a little bit, you raise your hand over the maid’s shoulder to wave at Mari-san, your smile beaming and crinkling the corners of your eyes. The lower maid notices it and her entire demeanour shifts into that of a person endeared. She feels better and you also feel better now.

“Ojou-sama, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“What about Papa? Aren’t we supposed to go to him?”

The maid stiffens. “Right after we clean the wound and put some cute bandages on it, Ojou-sama.”

“Can I pick the pattern?”

The woman chuckles under her breath. “Of course; as long as it is in the box Ritsuko bought the other day.”

Ritsuko must be one of the maids as well. You think long and hard about the design you want, the image of cute cartoon characters filling your mind. With a little pout, you suggest, “I want Sanrio.”

“Let’s see if there’s any of the Sanrio characters in the bandages, then, Ojou-sama. Just a little more and—Mutsuki-sama!”

“I’ll take it from here, Aida-chan.”

The most beautiful woman who puts the flowers to shame — your mother. She was once the most desired bride, even threatening to break the close relationship of the oldest sons of the current head of the Zen’in family in hopes of finally giving birth to the sorcerer who will possess the Ten Shadows Technique they are praised for. Because of your father, the current head of the clan bearing a reverse cursed technique so notorious, that civil war was prevented and the Zen’in married other women from lower clans as a way to swallow their shame. All the funnier it was to the adults having meetings in your house when after marrying their chosen brides, the Zen’in sons weren’t blessed by Lady Luck — the eldest son’s children were never that exemplary (one didn’t inherit the Ten Shadows Technique and the other was an anomaly to your society) and the younger one’s wife experienced miscarriage and false positives.

Judging from the stories you’ve heard of that Zen’in dispute so many years ago, you understand with your little brain that your mother embodies the word pretty through and through — pretty enough to bewitch the young head of the Gojo clan, who is roughly around the same age as her. In the end, it was your father she chose and they were married as soon as she reached the age of eighteen. You graced their life four years after their marriage and she told you in hushed whispers behind a thin shoji that they prayed for your creation — that you are loved way before conception because there was not a night that she didn’t wish to the stars for your existence.

Your mother stands in the middle of the hallway, her maids lowering their heads behind her. The kimono wrapping her figure is anything but simple, one of the many gifts showered to her by your father. Her hair is cascading down her back and her smile is demure yet exuding with so much warmth that it compels you to reach out for her. Her glittering eyes shine ever more at your silent plea to be transferred into her arms.

“Oh, come here, my little petal,” she murmurs while taking you from the maid and in her frail arms. She huffs at the unexpected weight. “Aren’t you getting bigger?” Her voice is soft, almost like she is talking to an easily frightened kitten, even leaning forward to lightly brush the tip of her nose to yours. You giggle at the ticklish sensation and your mother hums a little amused laugh.

You place both of your hands on her cheeks. “Hello, Mama.”

“Hello, little petal.” Her gaze drifts down to the hastily wrapped ribbon around your finger, the red is still vibrant against the muted colours of the material. “Did you hurt yourself while playing in the garden?” Mother tuts under her breath. “We can’t have that now, can we?” The crinkles around her eyes harden into that expected of a Mistress of the house and all the maids present straighten their postures, all the while facing the ground. When the younger women keep their silence, Mother returns to gazing at you with that lovely look she usually has while trailing her eyes over your features. “I suppose it’s expected of children to have a little scratch here and there while enjoying life. After all, my little petal gets her love for nature from me. Isn’t that right, my darling?”

“The flowers talked to me in the garden, Mama.”

“Did they?” Mother glances at the maids before walking toward her room. “What did they say?”

You place a hand on your chin, tucking your head in the crook of her neck. “They were whispering about many things.” You gasp in realisation. “I think they found a little bunny!”

She adjusts you in her hold, her breaths deepening the more she carries you. “We’ll ask someone to fetch that rabbit for you.”

“Will Papa say yes?”

Mother pauses for a moment. The words coming from her throat are carefully crafted to never dim that enthusiastic gleam present in your irises. “Your father is weak when it comes to you; I’m sure he’s going to grant your wish no matter how bizarre it is. A bunny doesn’t even create a dent on anything he holds.”

“I’ll call it Melody.”

“Why the name, little petal?”

“Because it’s the only bunny in Sanrio.”

You watch the long corridors depict the opulence of the gardens of your father’s estate, all of the flowers arranged in a way that is akin to the traditional art of ikebana, making the lifeless plot of land alive. The previous head of the Joushou family decided that for their heir to win the heart of the flower of the Jujutsu society, they have to plant different species of flowering plants to the bland greenery they have in their backyard. It most certainly impressed the standing head of the Hanamo clan, who agreed to give their prized daughter to the man who would least harm her. Now, the garden is a testament to the love sprouting between your mother and father and many maids and butlers say that it is still revered by those who have heard it, all wishing for a love like that to save them from the fate given to them by the higher-ups.

A little honey bee drapes itself on one of the flowers, its wings fluttering rapidly against the purple petals. The flower sneezes though it doesn’t agitate the bee buzzing to get a taste of its nectar. You giggle at the incessant complaints brought by the flower, only to be met by the satisfied buzz of the bee.

“Look, Mama, the flower is talking so fast!” You point at the still-rambling flower, Mother following your finger with her hooded eyes. 

“It’s reassuring to know that I’m not the only one to hear them now.”

You lean back from Mother’s shoulder, her hand immediately flat on your back to prevent you from toppling. “Careful,” she mutters under her breath. The crease on her eyebrows vanishes at the sound of your twinkling laughter.

“Sorry, Mama!”

Mother shakes her head. “It’s alright, petal.”

“Mama says she can hear the flowers, too!”

She sighs at your manner of speaking. “You said you can hear flowers, too,” she corrects without looking down at you, the door of her room right at her reach. “You can easily replace the nouns with pronouns, little petal. It’s not appealing to the ears once you get older. Best to remember to stop referring to yourself from a third point of view as well. It is unbecoming of a little lady of this house to have such impaired speech.” Mother hears nothing from you, so she takes a little peek at you before letting out a huff at the deflated posture you carry. “Your father won’t like it, petal.” She heaves another sigh. “And yes, I can hear the flowers because of our family’s cursed technique.”

“What’s a cursed technique, Mama?”

Once you enter Mother’s room, she pads on the tatami and gracefully lowers herself on one of the zaisu with you on her lap. You don’t see any first-aid kits anywhere that can help her clean and dress your small wound. Instead, Mother unravels the ribbon around your finger and holds it up for her to see. The blood has dried now, the wound stark on your skin. You never realised that the nick made by the roses’ thorns travelled from the tip of your appendage down to the line bordering your first knuckle. Mother remains quiet as she rubs the tip of her own finger over your own, making you flinch at the sting. She glances at the harsh movement of your little body and tuts, the sound echoing through the walls of her minimalistically decorated room. With the tenderness only a mother can have, she keeps on brushing her finger against your open skin, her breathing becoming laboured with each passing second.

The feeling that washes over you is ticklish in every sense. Something is coming from Mother’s touch that has you looking over at your joined hands. There is a pulsating glow emanating from between you two — blinding and warm. It travels from her fingertips to your wound, stitching it together like how she sews the tapestries displayed on some walls of the estate. The pain you felt earlier can be a figment of your imagination because when Mother wipes your finger with a clean napkin on the low table in front of you, the magic she did erases any sign of your injury. And right when she finishes doing her magic, the flowers in the ikebana around her room continue flourishing until more than one blossom can be seen. It’s only then that you realise they are singing in a chorus so heavenly that you have no problems hearing them all at once.

With a rugged pattern of breathing, Mother answers your hanging question, “That … can be classified as a cursed technique.”

You lift your hand to your eyes, blinking every so often and examining it for any scar. “Whoa,” you breathe. “That’s so cool!”

“That,” she catches her breathing, “is the reason why you should never be hurt.” She cups your face with her palm, cradling it like the world that you are. “Our very existence, our cursed technique, the way we were born, is proof of how special we are. They are the reason why your father is quite protective of you. Believe me when I say that you lit up the entire compound when I gave birth to you. In this generation, you are considered to be the most valuable possession of the Jujutsu society. There may come a time when a strong sorcerer will be born, but for now, the world will fall to its knees at the sound of your name. Because you have my blood in you and you know what they say about my family?” You sheepishly shake your head and she takes that as a sign to continue, with a knowing smile on her glossed lips, “Men would go to war just to have us. The near downfall of the Zen’in and Gojo clans hundreds of years ago says it all.”

“I don’t want that,” you murmur, now forlorn at the possibility of wreaking havoc in your world.

“It is the way of the world for us, petal,” Mother says, like an afterthought she always kept ever since.

“I want to watch Sanrio all day and look at the flowers and play,” you pout.

“That doesn’t exactly work for us in the future.”

“Then maybe I should run away!”

Now, both of Mother’s hands trap your head in place. Your eyes take her in — the franticness coating her features, the disbelief in the form of the sneer on her lips, and the underlying glint underneath her pupils. Your little heart starts pounding in your chest. Did you do something wrong to elicit such a reaction from her? Your mouth is about to form an apology when she cuts off your train of thought, “Never think of that again. You are the current flower of the Jujutsu society; running away is something that will have you executed. Do you understand me?” You nod, only jumping when that response rings unsatisfactory to Mother. She grits out your name before repeating, “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mother,” comes your quiet response.

“Now, that’s a good girl,” her words are soft but they carry a weight enough to wilt the smallest of buds. “If you run away, you might as well be a dead woman crawling.”

You’ve always wanted a younger sibling.

You don’t particularly long for a brother to dote on or a sister to frolic in the garden with, all you want is someone to share this loneliness wrapping around every room you venture into. And you have reached an age where you wish you had someone to play with, being eight and now more aware that the attention people give you is devoid of genuine emotion. Father is busy with whatever adult thing he occupies himself with (as usual) and Mother has started becoming ill, staying in her room more than going out to get a dose of fresh air. You’re left in the company of maids, butlers, butterflies, and flowers. With so many festivals that have been postponed, you have lost hope that you will get that adorable little sibling in your dreams — until the spring of 1988 when news spread that Mother is with child and you will finally have the younger sibling she wishes for.

“Congratulations, Lady Joushou,” a passing visitor jovially cheers, their smile reaching the heavens as if it’s their wife who is pregnant with the next heir of the clan. “I hope it’s a boy!”

“Oh, imagine the joy Yoshiki would feel if a boy comes out,” an elderly lady from the branch family gushes with her mouth carefully covered by the sleeves of her kimono.

Mother simply passes them a smile, one that can’t be hidden by the products on her face. Her hand is carefully perched on her protruding belly, just two months away from giving birth.

Father decided that the announcement of the possible heir of the Joushou clan should come at a later date, with the news making an impact on the higher-ups and would eventually give the clan an edge compared to the others. Especially now that the Zen’in clan has failed to produce another child from the oldest couple of the current head, their last child still an odd specimen but a survivor of a room full of cursed spirits. Father said that wasn’t enough for them to be boastful about their prowess, you remember (he adds something along the lines of the entire Jujutsu world would bow before the boy who will carry his Nullification). But you never cared about clan politics or who has the more exceptional children, you just want your baby sister to be out into the world. You want to show her the storybook you created for her eyes and ears only, a story of a little princess in the flowers.

“You should eat more seaweed, dear,” another old lady pads over to suggest. “It would help with milk production if you plan on breastfeeding the future heir.”

“What are you talking about? Of course, Lady Joushou is going to breastfeed the future heir. Breastfeeding is vital for the relationship of the mother and the child after all.” One of the official elders of the clan swatted the lady from the branch family before taking the rein on the conversation, her smile making her eyes crease into lines. “Try some cucumber juice as well! It worked when I was carrying my last child. Your skin will glow when you drink it, too.”

“Dear, now that I see it,” the old lady from the branch family starts while placing her hand on her cheek. “You have been glowing lately.”

“That is wonderful news!”

Mother chuckles ever so slightly. “Why?”

“It confirms that you’re carrying a boy!”

“A boy?” Something lights up Mother’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

The elder of the clan hums, “When a woman looks decayed, it means that they’re pregnant with a girl because all of the mother’s beauty is being sucked by the baby. If the opposite happens like the mother getting prettier by the day, the baby is a boy because beauty is not something he needs.”

Mother blinks out of her stupor. “That’s … informative, Shizuka-sama.”

“But I remember that everyone thought he was carrying a boy when the little flower was born. You had the most noticeable case of pregnancy glow with her that we thought we finally had our heir. Turns out it’s even better — a little lady to carry on the mantle of being the glorified womb—!”

“Enjoying yourself listening to the elders, little petal?” Father’s voice makes you jump from the shoji. You look behind your shoulder to see him standing with his back straight, his long hair that was tied in a low ponytail hanging over his shoulder, and his smile gentle yet firm. Father is a man who commands attention wherever he's placed. You don’t see him without his usual stoicism. Even when he smiles, you feel as if he’s never within your reach. Father was once Papa and when Papa decided it was better for him to long for a child he could pass his technique to, he became Father. When you keep staring at him, Father lightly laughs, something that sounds more like a scoff than anything. “Come here, petal,” he softly says, letting his hands be free from the confines of his kimono to gesture you into his arms. He carries you once you reach him, releasing a playful huff, “You’ve gotten big, huh?” He noses your hair before opening the shoji.”

“Oh, Lord Yoshiki!”

“Did you have a good meeting, Lord Yoshiki?”

“You must be pleased to hear about the possible gender of your child!”

“Finally an heir to celebrate!

“We’ll definitely fix a festival that’s more extravagant than the Hanamo’s—!”

“Ladies,” Father cuts through, his smile glacial enough to make the elderly women freeze. “Can I have some time with my wife? Our precious daughter is asking for her mother and I can’t have our little petal deprive her of it simply because we have a party outside.”

The one from the branch family bows her head in front of the head of the clan. “Oh, right away, Yoshiki-sama! We deeply apologise for taking most of your wife’s time.”

You don’t fail to notice the look of disdain she gives your direction.

“Nonsense,” the higher in position among the ladies tuts.

“Shizuka,” comes from the weak admonition of the lesser lady.

“The girl has her maids, am I right?” The words are like poison on her tongue and her eyes are daggers that pierce through your little bubble. Ever since they didn’t get the heir they wanted the first time around, they find you lowly just like Mother. At the tender age of eight, you already grasp the reason why some of Father’s family look at you in a way that someone looks at an uncoordinated ikebana — with disappointment. Coming from a clan that’s purely known for their blessed wombs, it is easy for the other clans to assume that is all that the Hanamo clan is worth — bearing children with otherworldly looks that can make the entire world weak. The woman continues throwing her daggers, “The child your wife is carrying has more priority than the one you have now. This unborn child may be the next one to inherit our technique—”

“I appreciate the concern,” Father says without saying the name of the elder woman. “But I would like to dismiss you now.”

“Well, I—”

“You have said enough.”

The woman squawks like a chicken and you giggle at the sound. She meets your laughing form and the glare on her face can curdle milk. Your laughter ceases but Father places a hand on the back of your head as if to shield you from her. She chooses to save her life by tidying up her kimono and exiting the room, the other ladies following her like ducklings. Once the room encloses only you three, Father walks to where Mother is and sits at the end of the chaise lounge she is reclined on.

“How is the boy?”

Mother lets out a little laugh. “Not you, too.”

“Is there a problem?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

Father hums, the conversation ending there.

You look at them like a tennis match.

Once upon a time, you longed for a younger sibling, not caring about the sex of the baby. Now, with the weight of the elder’s eyes on your useless form, you start to think that you don’t want a little brother, one that can be a godling among mortals. You want someone to play with and at the same time protect from the harsh realities of the elders — not someone who will take everything from you. It may sound selfish when you let it sink into your brain. You resort to twiddling with your fingers the more silence seeps through the cracks of the room. 

“I don’t want a brother,” your little mouth runs faster than your head. You pout as you fiddle with the material of your expensive kimono, embroidered with the different flowers that stand for your late grandmothers and aunts who married into other clans just like Mother. You don’t know what they mean but you figure that since they look pretty to be placed in a ceremonial robe, they might stand for something beautiful as well. While following the outlines of a chrysanthemum with your finger, you continue, “Brothers are going to be mean even if they’re little. I’ve seen my cousins and they’re rowdy — I don’t want my kimono to be dirty. Once, they threatened to push me off the bridge of our garden.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Father replies, adjusting you on his lap until he can face you while looking down. It’s genuine — the smile on his face; only reserved for his close family members, most especially you. He caresses the fluff that is making your cheek protrude with his thumb, his gaze seeing something that only he can envision. You may be imagining it but Father pulls you closer to his chest. He says nothing for a moment, instead leaning down to press a soft kiss on your hair inhaling that flowery scent your cursed energy pulsates with. “You will have a younger brother, petal. But fret not, your brother won’t be like your cousins because he has us. He will grow up to be sensible and kind and strong. He will carry on our name with him and you will be there as his guide.”

You tilt your head at him. “Won’t the elders do that instead?”

Father chuckles, his eyes fond as he keeps on rubbing circles on the apples of your cheeks. “I know he’d rather have you than those old people. The bond of siblings is something akin to an unsaid binding vow yet there are no conditions to be met because you are connected.”

You turn to Mother and all she does is smile. Looking down on Father’s rather plain kimono, you think it through.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, petal,” she tells you. “I, myself, have a brother and it’s not the end of the world. Every worry you have will vanish when he’s here with us.”

Your tentativeness comes in the form of reaching for Mother’s belly, curious to feel your potential younger brother. It’s almost like beckoning the bunny in the gardens to your hands four years ago; fur as white as snow and eyes as red as the red spider lilies decorating the inner corners of the foliage and shrubs (bad luck, the gardeners say). Confidence pools in your tiny hands upon finally touching the rough texture of Mother’s kimono under your skin because this time, you know that your younger brother would outlive any of you, unlike the bunny four years ago — the red of its eyes matching the blood pooling from its white coat, maggots squirming from its insides and onto the grass. The bunny died but your brother will live.

At least that’s what you constantly tell yourself when the entire estate is ablaze with the news that the baby boy Mother has been praised for for carrying, comes out pale blue as a stalk of delphiniums.

When your little brother never reached a full day of life and was placed with the ancestors the day after his birth, everything died in the Joushou compound. There is a lingering scent of rotting flowers in the breeze, encompassing the entire protective circle wrapping around the compound’s protective barrier. Mother won’t stop crying during the kokubetsushiki (where everyone says their farewells); not even your comforting tugs on her black kimono can quell the distraught her entire body racks with. Father looks forward as the son he prayed to the gods for will be burned — so tiny and so unfair, an image of a perfect clan head. You see the other clans wearing black like your family does but they don’t cry like Mother does nor grumble in disappointment like the elders do. You look over your shoulder at the clan with sharp eyes and you feel the flowers beside them squirm at their malintent, except for one. It’s a boy already staring at you, the deep green in his eyes reminds you of early spring when the greenery is at its most beautiful. The scar on the side of his lips is stark against his skin, so twisted that even without a smile on his face, it is prominent. He keeps on staring at you with so many emotions that you can hardly pick them out until your name is called.

“Yes, Father?” You look up at him.

Without returning your gaze, he says, “Let’s go.” You follow him through the door but Mother doesn’t. “Wife,” he announces, causing Mother to flinch.

“I-I’m going to say g-goodbye to hi—”

“Come.”

Her breathing hitches, having no choice but to always be obedient in front of so many prying eyes. “O-Of course, husband.”

The world carries on but Mother has never come out of her room ever since.

Nobody has ever entered it except Father, stoic but tumultuous, and the screams that follow are enough to give you nightmares at night — bone-chilling and grating.

“What were those screams, Aida-nee-san? It sounds like Mama is in pain.”

The maid finches at your question one morning while rubbing your skin with a soft sponge.

“For there to be blessings, one must suffer first, Ojou-sama — they were just making your baby brother. Your mother will be praised if the union becomes fruitful once again.”

You wish you never wanted a baby sibling at all.

You are nine when you are introduced to members of Mother’s family.

Your uncle, Hanamo Hatsugu, stares at you from across the table with eyes glistening with expectation. The table is painted with a variety of sweets from all parts of Kyoto, some intricate with their decorations (candied sugar moulded into swans on top of whipped cream) while others are the simple desserts that you see in catalogues (nothing but fruits as their jewellery, though also glistening with melted sugar). You have never owned a sweet tooth in your life, courtesy of the maids who think of your health, constructing nutrition charts for each day of the week, something that has to do with preparation. You think through all the possible things you can say to your uncle and all of them lead to him dejected or angry for your lack of enthusiasm at the spread he prepared. The most you can do is sit straight and let nature do its singing outside the window. Hopefully, it will drown out the silence you’re causing. 

“So,” your uncle drawls out like a child, his eyes never dimming — they’re the same as Mother’s, which means they’re the same as yours, too. “Do you want the panna cotta? The roasted strawberry crumble? Ooh, ooh, the black forest cake from this cafe is absolutely divine, one bite and you will see heaven, I would say!” At your wide-eyed reaction to the chocolate-coated frosting on the cake, he pauses with a smile before brandishing a saucer of a smooth cake topped with berries. “How about some angel food cake? No one can resist a slice of good angel food cake!” You make no move and you think he finally reaches his final straw because he leans back and groans in frustration. “Come on, sprout, you have to eat something! It’s been hours since you’ve been here.”

Oh, so, that’s what it is. You look down at the desserts he arranged on the table (at least from what he boasts about earlier, saying that it’s something he comes up with like flower arrangement). There’s nothing displayed here that’s not overly coated with sugar or drizzled with too much syrup. You might as well accept your fate.

You pick the dessert that you assume to be the least sweet of everything here — a dark chocolate glazed doughnut with dried blackberries on top. The eyes drilling on your forehead can be quite imposing but you take a bit of the confection nonetheless. You carefully chew on the bittersweet piece of candy, letting it melt on your tongue until you get a taste of it combined with the blackberries. You can’t even deny that they complement each other.

“Huh,” comes from your uncle.

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You can look like a kid your age,” Uncle Hatsugu muses with his chin supported by his hand, “I’m glad.”

You don’t understand, tilting your head to the right.

“Now that’s downright adorable,” he points at your scrunched-up nose, furrowed eyebrows, and jutted lip. “I understand why some of our relatives spread the word that your father can never refuse you anything. You are like a tiny mouse.” He reaches out over the table and the display of desserts to pinch your cheek but you evade the possible harmful gesture. “And a flighty one at that. You know, that’s useful when harnessing our cursed technique. Do you know a thing or two about it?” While he speaks, he waves at one of the maids stationed at the shoji of the room before signing something that awfully looks like a drink.

With your mouth nibbling on the doughnut, you nod in response. At the sight of you still eating the dessert, Uncle Hatsugu brightens like a child witnessing their first rain of fractals on a chilly, grey day. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

At that, you knit your eyebrows even more.

“Hah, you’re so much like Onee-chan when we were young.”

You gulp down what you’ve been chewing. “Mama?”

He grins when he finally makes you speak. “Yeah, Onee-chan is a curious individual. I never quite grasped what she is like but,” he emphasised the word, “she is the most adept at utilising the healing potential of our cursed technique — actually every woman who earned the title of Heir Maker has the ability to do that. You may be too young to be told this but I guess it’s better than later.” The mirthful air surrounding Uncle Hatsugu disappears and what is left are heavy lines making up his sharp face. “You and all the women before you are considered to be anomalies in the Jujutsu system made by the old gaggle of men who call themselves the higher-ups and because of that, you are unofficially given the title of Special Grades.”

“Special?”

“Yes, little sprout is special,” he forces himself to smile. “And it is because of our family.”

“What do you mean, Uncle?”

“Have you ever felt like the plants around you talk or relay their thoughts?” You nod and he puffs his chest in satisfaction. “Perfect, then, that means you inherited it. Our cursed technique lies in continuously seeing the world in a positive light, which means you will always have the opposite of cursed energy.” He flicks his hand to let blue flames cover his entire appendage, right to his elbows. You gasp at the hostility coming from Uncle but he only laughs at that and erases any sign of the flame from sight. “That is regular cursed energy. This, however,” this time, he cups both of his hands in front of him, putting more concentration than before, and instead of the blue flames from earlier, his hands carry white flames edged with green, “is the pinnacle of our cursed technique — the reverse of cursed energy.”

“Woah,” you gape, forgetting the doughnut in your hand and leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the white flames that only seem to grow brighter the more Uncle looks at you with fondness.

“Yeah, remarkable, isn’t it?”

You can’t help but nod in awe. “Mama healed me with it once when I got myself hurt from the gardens.”

“I heard from our elders that Onee-chan possesses the highest output of our cursed technique in centuries but she can only heal instead of attack,” Uncle Hatsugu ruefully smiles. “Too bad she is pushed to marry first before pursuing a career of fighting and protecting. But now,” his eyes that he shares with Mother gleam and you swear you see flowers bloom in his irises, “this is my chance to teach you how to use our cursed technique — Floral Anima.”

Only the men in the Joushou clan have the right to be sorcerers, that is if they successfully inherit the Nullification. As of now, you recall that there’s not a single woman sorcerer in your family. Being a sorcerer—no, wielding a cursed technique at most—is a figment of one’s dreams. 

“But there are no girls in my family who can do cursed techniques,” you supply with your eyes on the crumbs on your saucer. 

“The Joushou clan is not the only family you have, sprout.”

You peer at him through your unbound hair, trepidation still lingering in your limbs. You can’t even begin to think how Father would react to you dabbling in something only men can do. But then again, Mother has a cursed technique, some of the Hanamo women have cursed techniques, Hell, even the kinder old ladies you passed by earlier in the extensive gardens have cursed techniques (they made some of the flowers extra flourishing as a welcome to the Hanamo compound). All your life, you never wanted anything. Maybe this can be it — the one thing that will carve out who you are. Learning a cursed technique will give you the identity that has long since been stripped from you. The Joushou clan is not the only family that you bear the blood of. You’re a Hanamo as well — the known shepherds of the forests and blossoms of Japan.

With a deep breath, you lift your head and say, “What do I have to do?”

Uncle Hatsugu has that blinding smile again. You can smell the amalgam of floral scents in the air wafting from outside the engawa. “Come here!” He pats on the zabuton beside him.

You stand up and plop yourself next to him, making your hair bounce before framing your face. You look up at Uncle Hatsugu, who sits carefully to face you.

“Now, hold your hands together like you I did.” You do so and await his next instructions. “I want you to close your eyes,” you close them, “and think of what makes you happiest—it doesn’t matter when, whether it will be in the future or stuck in the past; it’s up to you.”

You think of making your own garden, with flowers that you have planted and cultivated yourself. You think of Mother healthy again, skin glowing like she did so many years ago. You think of the baby brother you once wanted, running around the cut grass on his stubby feet. Lastly, you don’t think of Father and his family. Yet nothing happens. You open your eyes and blankly look at your uncle in disappointment.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

You huff. “But it didn’t work.”

Uncle Hatsugu pushes on your forehead with his forefinger, making you cover it up with a glare. “You’re not trying hard enough.”

“Then what am I supposed to think about?”

“I don’t know,” he admonishes. “Happiness is subjective to every person.”

“What makes you happy? What do you think about while making that white fire?”

His eyes glazed over as if he were watching a scene only he could see. A smile painting an arrangement of periwinkles and forget-me-nots creates itself on his lips, blues and purples shifting around each other and creating a sentimental mess. It takes him a moment to reign himself back to the present, with you patiently trailing your eyes over his face. “It’s always about simpler times. Like Mom cutting watermelon slices on summer days, growing my first flower for the first time, or,” he trails off, “wishing for a memory that is impossible to happen because you are here, the proof that it did happen.” His face contorts into a rueful smile, reaching out to pat the crown of your head. “I always imagine my sister never getting married, staying right here in our estate, and not having children — she is—”

“The happiest you’ve seen her,” you finish for him and he pales. “I know.” You look down at the kimono you have, a miniature copy of Mother’s. “I sometimes wonder what it would be like if Mother is not the mother I’ve grown to adore. Maybe I could be a different child.”

“Hey, I apologise for putting that thought in your head—”

“It’s alright, I’ve grown quite used to them.”

“What do you—”

You quickly lift your head. “Can you help me now?”

“U-Uh, sure,” Uncle Hatsugu stutters. “Try another memory. If you don’t mind me asking, what was the first one you used?”

You pout. “Mother being healthy again and my baby brother being alive.”

He nods in understanding. “How about this? Can you think of a place where you feel like you can breathe more easily?”

“I can try.”

“You will,” he fixes you with a playfully stern look, “and I won’t take no for an answer.”

You nod in determination. “Okay.”

“Okay! Now, do it all over again.”

You close your eyes and this time, you’re calm. Suddenly, you feel a gentle breeze covering your hands. The sensation urges you to open your eyes. On the palms of your hands is almost like that heart-fire demon in a movie you once watched. You expect the fire to burn your skin off but you’re thrown back to the memory of Mother healing your wound — that ticklish thing travelling through the lines of your skin. You did it.

“Oh, gods, you did it,” Uncle Hatsugu breathes. “You did it, sprout! What did you think of this time?”

Still mesmerised at the white fire, you say, “A forest. An evergreen forest that seems to know both everything and nothing. It’s like that forest I’ve seen in a movie with cute spirits, filled with life and a possibility of a blight inside.”

Again, you never want another sibling.

The Joushou clan is in an uproar.

Another boy went to the depths of the earth. Fingers pointing at the useless Hanamo clan whose only worth comes in getting bred by strong sorcerers. Your uncle nearly grows poisonous vines at the baseless accusation. Father stoically faces the storm. The Zen’in clan, especially a man with a bottle of sake for an accessory, laughs at Father for bearing the irony of possessing The Glorified Womb yet never having a son—an heir.

Yet one thing remains in your mind.

An image of Mother crumbling to her knees with a pool of blood for a moat surrounding her.

You’re ten when Mother finally departs from the world in a flurry of red spider lilies, leaving behind a younger sister instead of a brother. Both disappointments and blows to your father’s family. Everybody is clad, once again, in mourning black but you feel as if you’re the only one who genuinely grieves for Mother. Her family is not even present at the funeral services, purposefully banned from ever entering the Joushou clan’s gates for sullying their name by introducing their failure of a daughter to their head. You can feel the tension in the wooden panels of the house, the harsh whispers of the elders, and the animosity behind closed doors.

All of the flowers in the estate withered with her, you notice. It is only when you step out to the lifeless gardens that with each barefoot step you make the colours bleed through. You stop in front of the carnations that once made you bleed. They were the flowers you’ve seen Mother plant without using her cursed technique. She talks to them, you once saw, whispering sweet nothings as if they were her children just as much as you are. You realise that you have your younger siblings all along but the role of the protector fell on them.

“Watch over my little petal, alright? She may be reckless but she is kind and understanding, worthy of being the flower who will tend to this garden once I pass.”

You blankly stare at them now while lowering yourself to the ground, sitting like you were once on the engawa watching the butterflies jump from flower to flower, never realising that tear tracks start to form on your cheeks like the trails of fallen stars. With each tear that drops on the soil, a sprout pierces through the soil, growing and growing until a solitary carnation comes from a carefully tucked bud and brushes the tears on your left cheek away. That only makes you cry even harder.

You don’t know how long you’ve been there while the services are still ongoing in the estate but you startle when the carnation squeaks at you to look behind you.

Heartbeat lodged in your throat, butterflies making your stomach queasy, and time standing still, you find yourself staring at a black-haired boy at the entrance of this part of the gardens — his eyes wide, chest too still to indicate any breathing, and scar a sharp contrast to his pale skin. He’s dressed in black and only one colour is standing among the dreary coldness of the once vibrant foliage.

A pair of evergreen forests for eyes.

additional notes:

Joushou — Reader's last name; Mainly from the term shoujou since reader is almost like a protagonist of a shoujou manga (born to be in a shoujou, forced to be in shounen rip). Kanji: 浄聖; 浄 (clean, pure, beautify, unsullied) + 聖 (holy, sacred, imperial); Prides themselves for possessing a CT named Nullification, which stems from their constant renewal and flow of reverse cursed technique, even going as far as creating a barrier that can render any cursed energy attack useless or to break a domain expansion, hence, getting the moniker of the House of Purity.

Hanamo — The maiden name of Reader's mother; Kanji: 花茂; 花 (of the flowers) + 茂 (lush, abundant, thriving, outstanding, diligent); The women in this clan are most known to be Heir Makers since the Golden Age of Sorcery, having possessed the Glorified Womb after being blessed by the goddess of creation.

Floral Anima — comes from the Greek term anima, which means the soul or the irrational part of it. Its principle comes from the belief that all life possess a soul, even plants. By having this CT, those in the Hanamo clan can manipulate the anima or souls of the flora to their liking, with them only influenced if there is a constant output of reverse cursed technique (positive). This allows the sorcerer to grow plants in varying degrees, make them burst forth from spots of cursed energy, and create safety spots or prisons when absolutely necessary. They can also make use of the type of plant they have around them to create a multitude of attacks than can be gentle but highly offensive as well.

taglist (send an ask or a reply if you want to be added !! )

@booblikerlhc @sugutoad

[kuyurasu]

Spider Lily

Dottore x Reader

Part 1

Part 2

Summary ; Soulmates are tied with their lifespan. After being sold to a man as a slave in sumeru, you forgot about the boy you had saved as a child. He didn't.

WC ; an obsene amount

Reading time ; depends.

Warnings ; a fuck ton. Porn with plot, p in v, mentions of rape and sodomy BUT NOT APPLIED or discussed in further chaps, trauma, severe abuse, slavery, suicidal thoughts, realistic healing, dark side of teyvat basically, heavy sexual content in the future, oral (m+w), praise, degradation, spanking, dom/sub, rough, soft, sweet, mean idc just being rabbits., so many more... don't be nervous, I'm just a little pinch of mentally insane.

... Haunting Adeline, anyone?

Authors note : Enjoy and sorry for being MIA, life fucking me hard-core in the ass. Also, I don't care who reads this. I'm not your fucking mom. I ain't gonna tell you what to read.

Perhaps it was a cruel fate that brought you to where you are now. Something messed up the fairytale, princess wonderland story you were supposed to be in. and somehow, you were here.

If you could curse the gods above, Celestia, and everything, you would. But physically, your tongue was tied. Incapable of muttering but a few words. It was a cruel world to be living in, and while others were blessed, you were in the dirt. Beneath all of them. A slave, they called you. Your own father sold you just so your mother couldn't save you, run away, or live without having a slave tattoo etched on your wrist.

Your father was a cruel man. Heartless, even. He didn't see anything wrong with abuse, it seemed, or treating his daughter or wife like cattle. He cut off the tip of your tongue when you screamed and fought with him as he sold your older brother, ultimately resulting in his death. He broke your bones and scarred your flesh beyond recognition. And then sold you away.

It was when you were 4 years old, though, that you first met the emotion of happiness. It was soft and warm. It started in the center of your chest and slowly spread out to your entire brain. It was definitely infected, yet so beautiful.

"Are you okay?" You asked softly, your eyes softening at the little boy in front of you. He was dirty and breathing heavily, yet he was wearing nice Sumeru clothing. It made your heart ache that he was clearly better than you, and yet, your slightly shorter tongue couldn't stop itself from speaking to him. Your voice was shaky and raspy from years of silence.

The little boy did not seem to mind; he actually had a fascinated look in his eyes at the sight of her semi-cut tongue.

The boy looked around frantically, though, at the sound of yells and searches among the villagers. They were looking for him.

"Please, help me." He asked for you. His bright red eyes were the only thing you could make out from the night sky, the mud covering his body, and his trembling form. Regardless, something struck a chord in your heart to help him. Perhaps it was something that you knew would be direct disobedience to your father, but helping anyone and getting back at him was all that pushed you to help the little boy.

You ran into the house, not even bothering to hide your footsteps until you made it to the small cabinet that hid the medical kit. The forest rangers provided every household in the rainforest with them, and who knew you would be using them on someone other than yourself and your mother?

You ran from the house, soft little breaths escaping your lips as you made it back to the boy with little time passing. You were secretly surprised your father did not hear you, so he must be out somewhere.

"H-Here." You crouched next to him, holding out the medkit to him. The red-eyed boy deftly began to pull everything out and use the supplies with unexpected accuracy for a little child.

You looked up nervously, watching the group of villagers go in hoards as they looked for someone—the little boy, not that you knew that. Not that he told you. He wrapped his injured foot and hand before catching sight of the slavery tattoo branded on your wrist. "What's that?" He asked quietly, his small, pale hand grasping your wrist before you could hide it.

You were stunned into silence for a moment, speechless as to what to say in response. You swallowed before answering, "My father wishes to sell me to Hadanish."

"The slave owner near the desert?"

You gave a small, reluctant nod in response to his inquiry, knowing it was something to be ashamed of, even terrified of. The muddy boy grabbed your shoulders, pulling you close.

"Come with me." He pleaded with you. How could he let the little girl who saved him go into slavery? It would kill him alive. No one has ever shown him kindness before you. He couldn't let his savior just die. He knew what happened to slaves, especially women. He was disgusted at the mere concept of you being in the clutches of Hadanish, a man known for his rape, sodomy, and abuse. You already looked to have experienced hell; he couldn't bear thinking of you experiencing more of it.

"N-No, I mustn't... I have to stay with my mother. sh-she needs me."

He grasped the little girl's cheeks, making them muddy as well, while the yells and hollers of the villagers looking for someone persisted. He shook his head, seeing the tears in the little girl's eyes. It was sad that you already seemed so grown up. "You saved me. I will never forget this. I will save you, I swear." He whispered to you, his heart breaking as he knew he had to leave. He had to go now.

You stammered slightly, your heart pounding in your chest, as you began to watch the little boy stand, taking the medkit with him. "W-Wait!" She called out for him, and luckily, he did pause. "What's your name?" She asked him softly, receiving a faint smile from him.

"Zandik, and yours?"

You whispered your name, only for him to nod and run off into the night.

It has been over 500 years since you were alive. It was weird considering you thought that you'd have been passing away like any normal person... But when you got to 40 years old and you still hadn't aged past 23, you knew something was wrong.

So did Hadanish, but he took advantage of it. He knew that as a slave who had no signs of age or death, you were like the perfect worker. It wasn't until your bones ached and threatened to break after hours of labor that he let you rest, only to get about 5 hours of sleep, and that's being very generous. He sent you to nation after nation in chains as a walking slave to serve from master to master; you wouldn't be surprised if everyone forgot about you—just something like a package for them.

Slowly, over the span of 200 years, you began to believe them. Tormented by what you saw through the ages, by the age of 396, you were so deep and lost in your own mind that it was like all you could think about was doing your labor. Until your bones break, until you throw up and can't think about your own name, until you forget to be.

It was at age 512, 5 years ago, that some person helped you. Practically saved you, as you were near death one particular night.

That morning, you woke up to a strange, nagging feeling. Something is screaming in your brain to get out of there. It was weird. After all the years you had spent completely alone in your head while your body got abused left and right, it was odd to hear a sense of self-preservation still remaining.

It was before 4 a.m. on a Wednesday when you got that dreadful feeling. It was something that you had never truly experienced before. Something in your gut told you that if you did not leave in less than 10 minutes, you'd never wake up again.

Carefully and strategically, you stood; being used to the chains that clamped down on your ankles, you shuffled silently to your current master. Asleep, unaware of whatever danger was lurking near the camp. It set your teeth on edge, the approaching lethalness, but the best you could do right now was get the hell out of there.

Your heart pounded and ached in your chest. It had been so long since you felt like hope was even possible in your situation. Maybe it was when you turned 124 that you stopped believing? You forgot. It didn't matter now. To hell with all the past grievances, you were getting out. Today.

With a shakiness you hadn't experienced in awhile, you reached for your master's pocket. The dogs around you, also chained to the metal post, did not stir. Neither did any of the other people as you slipped your hand around your key—a delicate yellow shade. It caused your breath to stutter as you weakly walked behind one of the tents, carefully unlocking your chains, as the idea of them waking up to their prized forever slave to be escaping...

Yet they were trusting. In over a decade of events and masters, you had never once tried to escape. Before today. It was because, at the ripe age of 4, you were already out working for your father—minor tasks, but still. Then you joined your brother; it was ingrained in your very soul to be a slave. To be a worker. They trusted that their product wasn't even aware she could escape. but they underestimated the power of instincts and wanting to remain alive, even for you.

The key twisted, and the lock came undone a second more. It was like time froze for a long, agonizing second, waiting and listening to anyone waking up to the betrayal—no, the resistance of a slave.

When nothing happened, you took off in a sprint. It felt so weird to fully extend your weak, shaky legs, but you told yourself that it was the most freeing, beautiful feeling. The nation of Natlan was beautiful yet savage; the land was not suited for the unfit, yet luckily for you, being a slave that worked until the skin was completely off your feet and bleeding, you were quite capable of this. It was like the pain of you running for hours on end didn't even phase you; the wheeze of your breaths did not stop you, nor did the trembling of your legs to take a breath prevent you from running all the way until you physically collapsed on the sands of Fonatine, laughing like a fool.

It had been far, far too long since you smiled and laughed until you were gasping for air while your legs trembled. Sore and probably having broken bones from your relentless running, while your head was spinning with exhaustion and dehydration. You were on a delirium high, dying as you lay on the beach.

After so long, you had basically killed yourself by escaping. It didn't make you sad; in fact, you laughed even more. Until you were puking up the water and bread from yesterday's lunch. It was hilarious!

You did all this just to die! It was so...

So… beautiful! It was like nothing you had ever experienced before. A crazed expression on your face as suddenly you could not laugh anymore. Your chest was just falling and rising rapidly while your heart rate shot up to levels you'd never felt before. looking up into the sky with wide, shaky eyes.

For some reason, the little boy you helped when you were just a small child flashed before your eyes. Oh yeah. Did he live a good life? You wondered, Did he suffer but escape earlier than you? Should you have accepted his offer to escape?

Maybe you did have a regret in your miserable life. The one choice you could've made could've changed your very life. What would it have looked like? Would your brother have lived?

"H-Hold me." You whispered out, unable to even lift a finger as you stared up in the sky, unable to breathe any longer as, for some reason, it was like life had swept under your feet...

The water dripped slowly. Just dripping in her open mouth to slowly hydrate her body so as not to put her in shock. Foolish girl, she already looked like she had put her heart through a shock. It was lucky she was even barely alive. Although he couldn't necessarily blame her, not after seeing the several slave tattoos all over her body when cleaning her up.

Perhaps it's for the best that she did such a thing, so she knows what life feels like. Overwhelming would be an understatement. He would probably tell her to look after that insanity she felt for that short amount of time; perhaps she could find life where she found death.

Maybe.

He would have to report to the doctor that he would not be coming back until tomorrow, which did worry him slightly. but if he told the harbinger that he had found another rare experiment item, he would let it pass.

"Foolish girl. The world has done you cruelty, yet I have to use this tactic. Sigh." The man gently placed a damp cloth atop her forehead, cooling down the fever ravaging her insides. She would take a while to heal, but that was why he was here. As a Fatui operative, he had never truly saved a life. It felt nice.

Perhaps she would be suited for a life in Snezhnaya; who knows? All he knew in this moment was that she was dying.

"Your soulmate is probably waiting for you somewhere. C'mon, foolish girl, wake up for them."

[lemonlover1110]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍'𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄

Levi Ackerman

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x f!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), vaginal sex (most likely forgot to add some warnings)

I found this old oneshot from like two years ago and just wanted to share here. I didn't read through it bc that's just embarrassing but it's almost 4k words that deserve to see light of day, anyway enjoy

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

It was Thursday afternoon, and you were just finishing practice. Finally, after a long day of hard work. You were being watched the whole time. He watched you like a hawk, while you trained. Not bothering to pay attention to anyone else, just you.

His attitude towards you was always so nasty. He hated you, there was no doubt in your mind; but why? You were an excellent cadet, always obeying orders and treating others with respect. The idea of acting up never crossed your mind, yet he treated you as if you were the most mischievous in the group. 

You went over to talk to your group of friends, laughing and giggling while his eyes bore into the back of your head. You had brought up the situation many times to your friends, but they always responded with a “Really? I haven’t noticed him staring at you” or a “I think you’re overreacting.” But you weren’t overreacting, you felt targeted by him. It made you upset how you were singled out. Levi Ackerman was a person you looked up to, but sadly he didn’t seem to like you. 

“Hey, Captain Levi wants to speak with you.” Eren informed you, as he walked over to the group. A sigh escaped your lips, as you were expecting to get scolded. You walked away from the group of people and walked over to where Levi was. 

“You wished to speak with me, Captain?” You spoke up, but he remained quiet and expressionless. 

“You’ve been doing horrible during training, are you sure you’re cut out for this?” He started, and you listened in on his criticism. He talked about how you needed to improve so much more on your hand-to-hand combat skills, which you found kind of useless in the scout regiment since you weren’t planning on killing titans with your fists. Regardless, he was right about your poor skills in that area. He talked about how much more you needed to work on your omni-directional mobility skills, you nodded as you listened even if you were a bit confused since you excelled in that area. He pointed out many things you needed to improve with, but didn’t give out a single tip. 

He had finally dismissed you, as people were already going back to their dormitories, and preparing for dinner. You rushed to the showers to clean yourself up, and not be too late for the last meal of the day. The women were already getting out and putting on their clothes, as you arrived and took off yours. 

“We’ll wait for you.” Sasha announced as she walked out with Mikasa. 

You walked into the shower stall and began cleaning yourself, as women continued walking out of the place, until the last one left and you were left alone. As the cold water hit your skin, all you could think about was Captain Levi. You never did anything to upset him, so why was he so tough on you. You could handle criticism, but he always singled you out, even if people were doing so much worse than you. 

The bathroom door opened, and you wondered if someone had forgotten something, since you were the last to leave the training grounds and to shower. You didn’t say anything, though, since it didn’t concern you. You continued scrubbing yourself while the footsteps got louder and louder, until they came to a sudden stop. You slightly turned your head, for your eyes to be met with the man you were just thinking about. Quickly, you grabbed the towel that hung over the stall, and wrapped it around your body. 

“Captain, what are you doing here?” You turned off the water, and turned to face Levi who looked mortified. Levi was nearly naked, only a towel covering his lower region. 

“My private bathroom is getting fixed, so I was going to the boy’s bathroom to take a shower, I thought this one was it. Apparently not.” He explained and your eyes couldn’t help but to go to his torso, and take in how good he looked. 

“It used to be this one, but I guess they changed it.” He added.

“Mhmm... I guess they did.” You hummed as your eyes were glued on his abs. You wished the towel would magically drop to find out if Levi’s height went somewhere else. He noticed it, and he was enjoying the way you looked at him. He walked towards you, grabbing you and pushing you against the wall.

“What’s on your mind, cadet?” He raised an eyebrow, and you remained speechless, as you took in the situation. Levi had you against the wall. “Don’t be shy, I don’t bite.”

“Well, only if you ask me to.” He smirked. You grabbed the back of his head and pulled it towards you, pressing his lips against yours. Within an instant he kissed you back. His lips felt oddly soft, something you definitely weren’t expecting. He bit your bottom lip, making you gasp. He used the opportunity to enter his tongue into your mouth and press it against yours. 

He pulled away from your mouth, and began pressing open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, before moving down to your neck and doing the same. Not doing much more to your neck, he moved to your collar bones, and began marking that area.With one tug your towel was on the floor and Levi kept moving down, till he reached your pussy. He grabbed your leg, and placed it on top of his shoulder as he ran his tongue through your folds before flicking your clit. Soft moans escaped your lips as he continued. 

You ran your hand through his hair as he continued sucking on your clit. Levi took two fingers, and slowly pushed inside of you. His fingers weren’t that big but he sure did know how to use them. His fingers were hitting all the right spots as he licked your clit. He somehow knew exactly how to please you. 

“Oh Captain-” You moaned out as he gently bit your clit. He detached his mouth from your pussy, to look at you as he continued fingering you. A smug look was painted across his face, as he watched how your eyes rolled to the back of your head due to his fingers that were thrusting in and out of you. The face of pleasure your face projected satisfied him. 

He began scissoring his fingers, as he took his other hand and rubbed your clit. You began squeezing around his fingers, and he couldn’t help but wonder how good that would feel around his cock. You held on to the stall wall for support as your body spasmed, reaching you high. Levi took his fingers out, and pressed a soft kiss on your pussy before standing up. He helped you balance yourself before speaking.

“You should probably head to the mess hall, people might be wondering where you’re at.” 

-

Following his orders, you were now in the mess hall sitting between Mikasa and Armin, across from Jean, Sasha and Connie. The table was mostly quiet as everyone enjoyed their food in silence, well most of the table, Sasha stuffed her mouth and made sure everyone could hear her; and you, well you were thinking about what just happened. Levi was always picked on you, and he seemed to despise you so what just happened in the bathroom was unexpected. 

“What made you take so long in the bathroom?” Sasha finished eating, finally speaking. You tried to remain neutral as you thought of an excuse. You remained quiet as nothing good came up.

“It’s none of our business.” Mikasa responded for you, and you agreed with her. Nobody really cared, but Sasha became suspicious. You noticed it, and hoped she wouldn’t bring it up again. In hopes that she’d forget, you gave her the bread that you weren’t planning on eating. She looked happy, which you hoped meant that she’d let it go. But she wouldn’t let it go, the fact that you gave her food made her even more suspicious. 

“What did Captain Levi want?” Jean cocked his eyebrow, curious on why Levi wanted to talk to you. The mention of his name made your face heat up, however you managed to answer his question, making it seem believable as you sighed, “Just the same old thing, criticizing me for poor work during training.”

Mikasa clicked her tongue as she heard the response. She had seen how Levi always picked on you, so she believed you when you spoke to them about the issue. 

“What is his issue with you?” Mikasa huffed, and you shrugged. You were still curious on why he was always rude, but you had a general idea in mind. 

“Where’s Eren?” You changed the topic, which thankfully worked. 

“Hange is running some experiments on him.” Armin answered. Mikasa looked annoyed, since she knew that the experiments Hange was doing weren’t safe for anybody. 

The rest of the dinner was filled with jokes (mostly from Connie), giggles, and some conversation about Scout topics. Mikasa, Sasha and you said goodbye to the boys before walking to your dorm room you shared. 

-

“Wake up!” Sasha aggressively shook you, making you open your eyes. You sat up, and looked around confused. Until you saw the sunlight in the room, you ran to get your uniform. 

Training usually started so early, that the sun wouldn’t be out which meant you were late. You also made Sasha late, who apparently spent time trying to wake you up. You tried your best to put on the uniform quickly, which was a difficult task to do. Sasha continued waiting for you, which made you feel bad since she was already late. You made a mental note to give her your bread for at least a week. 

After putting on the uniform, which was most likely messed up, you two ran out to the training area. Everyone was already busy, Levi was overlooking the training for the week and he made sure the soldiers were always busy with something. You tried to sneak in with the soldiers, but when he locked eyes with you he signaled you to come over. You did and stood in front of him, while Sasha still tried to sneak in. 

“Braus, come here!” He yelled. He crossed his arms as Sasha walked towards the two of you.

“Care to explain why you two are late?” He looked back and forth between Sasha and you. You bit your lip feeling guilty for getting her in trouble.

“It was my fault sir, I was feeling sick and she took care of me.” You lied, and Levi raised an eyebrow. He knew you were lying, but he still let Sasha go. 

“Lying is not a very good quality. He stated, and you looked at the ground in shame. Levi rolled his eyes before speaking again, “You’re coming with me to my office.”

Levi began walking towards the building, and you followed. The walk was silent and awkward, since there wasn’t much to talk about. Screw that. There was much to talk about but it would be too weird to bring it up in broad daylight. 

He opened the door to his office, and let you enter first. You stood in the middle of his office awkwardly as he closed the door, locking it, before walking to his chair and sitting down. He patted his lap, wanting you to sit on it and you hesitated before walking over.

You sat on his lap, waiting for him to speak up. You knew he had something to say, he always did. He just looked into your eyes, and even though he pretended to be mad his eyes told otherwise. He cleared his throat before speaking, “You know, cadet, you’re a very good liar. Too bad I can read you like a book. You could’ve fooled me. Now what actually happened?”

“I overslept and Sasha waited for me.” You told the truth. He wasn’t planning on punishing you, since you were always really responsible and obedient. This was the first incident and most likely the last. He tried fighting off a smile after an idea came into mind. He couldn’t hide it so instead he began kissing along your jaw. 

“You know, I can’t let this go just like that.” He moved to your lips, where he immediately slid his tongue in and pressed it against yours. You wrapped your arms around him, as the kiss deepened. He pulled away to speak again, “All of next week you’re going to be in here, cleaning the filthy office.”

You smiled before pulling him into a kiss again. The office was anything but filthy, so he was most likely just going to fuck you all of next week. He pulled away,  picked you up and set you down on his desk table. He looked down at your uniform and cocked an eyebrow.

“Thought that you knew how to put on your uniform properly, but apparently not.” He began unbuckling the belts of the uniform one by one, before grabbing one and ordering you to, “Hold your wrists above your head.”

He took the belt and tied your wrists together, restraining you from touching him. He began unbuttoning the buttons of your shirt, commenting on how the shirt was messed up. After unbuttoning the shirt, he took in the sight in front of him, “You really are one sexy woman.”

He took off the waistcloth and your boots, before pulling down your pants and leaving you in your underwear. He began rubbing you through your panties. 

“Aren’t you excited?” He commented after feeling the damp fabric, you rolled your eyes even if you knew he was right. He pushed the panties to the side and began playing with your clit. Without a warning he entered two fingers, making you gasp and shut your legs close. 

“Now, now, don’t be shy.” He spread them once again, getting a full view. He began prepping you, by scissoring his fingers. 

You watched as he focused on your pussy. You doubted you had ever seen him so concentrated even during training. 

He kept pumping his two fingers in and out for a minute, before adding another since he knew that just two fingers weren’t enough. You moaned, surprised at the new finger. He loved seeing how good you felt under his touch, and the erotic faces you made as he played with your cunt. 

He wasn’t planning on spending too much time on prepping, since the soldiers training would finish soon with their task and need instructions. He had locked the door as a safety precaution, but it would also seem suspicious if they tried to come in and the door was locked. 

He took his fingers out, and leaned in, kissing your lips. He pulled away and unbuckled his belt, pulling down his pants along with his boxers making his dick spring out. Your eyes widened at the sight, his height certainly went somewhere else.

“Have you ever done this before?” He asked, making sure this wasn’t your first time. He wasn’t opposed to the idea of taking your virginity, but he didn’t want to take it in his office. He should’ve asked the question last night, but he got too caught up in the moment. 

“I have, don’t worry.” You responded. You were eager for him to fuck you, a bit scared though since you had never been with someone as big as him.  With your response, he spit on your cunt, as he pumped his cock.

He aligned himself with your entrance and slowly pushed himself in. Your eyes filled up with tears, as his cock stretched you out. He looked up to see your face, and noticed your glassy eyes, so he made sure to go in slower. He was halfway in and stopped, to make sure you were okay.

“Can you handle more?” The tone of his voice seemed caring, and if the situation were a bit different you would smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He continued going in at the same pace as before, he made sure he didn’t hurt you. When he was all the way in, he didn’t move, letting you adjust to the size. 

“Tell me when to move.” Levi was desperate to move, you were clenching around him and you just felt so good that he was afraid he was going to come in a minute, but he wanted to make sure you were comfortable before moving. You felt as if you could never get used to him so you just decided to let him move.

“You can move.” You informed him. He started off slow, still making sure you were okay. 

You digged your nails into your palms, and bit your lip stopping cries from escaping your lips as he fucked you. You wished you could’ve been marking his back but he wanted to tie your hands up, you’d get him next time. 

The pleasure overtook the pain as he continued his steady thrusts. One of his hands squeezed your cheeks and brought you up to kiss him. The nastiest kiss you had ever shared with anyone. He pulled away, wanting to hear your moans and cries again. “You’re taking me so well. Who knew a little slut like you could handle my cock.” 

“Fuck- your pussy feels so good.” He continued praising, as he felt how much it turned you on by the way your pussy clenched around him while he spoke.

You kept clenching around him, making him take out his cock knowing that if he didn’t he’d come soon. He entered you, once again, this time hitting your sweet spot making you moan even louder. 

Taking his cock out was useless since his thrusts were becoming sloppy, as he was about to come again. You just felt too good around him, and he couldn’t contain himself. He didn’t want to come before you, so his thumb found your clit and began massaging it. 

“Captain-” You moaned as he continued hitting your sweet spot, and massaging your clit. You were about to come at any second and he knew it. He didn’t stop making sure that you would come before him.

“Come on my cock, baby.” As he spoke, your eyes rolled back and your body spasmed while you came on his cock. Levi quickly took his cock out and released his cum on your stomach. 

He took in the sight in front of him, once again. Your arms were above your head with your wrists tied up, you were covered in sweat and his cum was in your stomach; you looked like a mess but he couldn’t find you even more beautiful. He didn’t doubt that he looked like a mess, too but nothing compared to you, at least he thought. He undid the belt and let your hands free before finding something to help you clean the cum on your stomach. You remained on the desk, knowing your legs wouldn’t work to support yourself for a while. 

He passed you some paper towels that he kept hidden and you thanked him. As you were cleaning yourself up a loud knock on the door made you panic. Levi remained calm, knowing he was in a position of authority and he could tell anyone to fuck off. 

“What do you need?” An annoyed tone was clear in his voice. 

“Captain, we finished what you told us to do. What else do you need?” Mikasa’s voice was clear on the other side of the door, which made you panic even more. Levi was planning on going back out, but he needed to do some paperwork, not only that he didn’t want to let you leave just yet. 

“Just do whatever you think is necessary. Now leave.” He answered, sitting down on his chair. You hurried putting on the uniform, just in case she dared opening the door. He held your hand and tried stopping himself from laughing, while he pointed at the door showing you it was locked. He made you sit on his lap again, as he looked over some paperwork. 

It was weird how yesterday you thought he hated you. Still, you wanted to ask why he was always so rude to you, wanting to confirm if the idea you had in mind was true. You didn’t want to interrupt his concentration but curiosity was killing you. You cleared your throat and his gaze shifted over to you.

“I have a question…” You started. Levi shifted his whole attention to you, as you spoke. “So why were you always so rude to me?”

Levi’s cheeks slowly turned pink as he heard your question. He was a bit ashamed of his reasoning, but he didn’t want to lie or dismiss your question. He stayed quiet as he built up the courage to get the words out of his mouth. He placed a chaste kiss on your lips before speaking, “Well I simply just wanted you to leave the survey corps…”

He expected you to get mad, but to his surprise you were smiling. You were right about his reasoning. 

“And why is that?” You managed to ask, your voice showing you were a bit too happy. He cleared his throat before explaining, “When I first saw you I was drawn to you, and ever since that day I’ve desired you. I couldn’t act out on my feelings since I’m in a position of authority and it would’ve been wrong. Even what we just did was wrong. I just… didn’t want to act out on my feelings and do something I’d regret, so I tried making you leave for maybe one day you’d forgive me and allow me to take you out on a date.”

“I’m sorry… I hope you can forgive me.” You watched his grey eyes filled with regret. You pecked his lips, in hopes of making him feel better.

“I’m not mad.” You reassured him.

You looked into each other's eyes for a minute, and a warm feeling overtook you. You couldn’t help but smile at his cold gray eyes that warmed up the minute they saw you. He smiled too, the same warm feeling overtaking him. 

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Dang, these f.naf prompts are super good dude! Any chance we could get more a.nimatronic prey? Could be like a regular person or other a.nimatronics that eat em. G.utcrush and d.isposal if ya could too

I'd like to do that, yeah! Glad you've been enjoying them. I'll do something with the "OG cast" as prey. With a little swap out for someone.

The technician sighs as he looks up at the stage. This old pizza place is getting shut down and the robots gotta go. Apparently, they’re too dangerous, and the company is just going to start over. There’s three of them on the stage—F.reddy, a brown bear with a top hat, B.onnie, a purple rabbit with a bow, and M.onty, a green gator with red hair. There’s a fourth one in the back, F.oxy, a red fox that’s already half broken in the cove. That one will have it be last.

The technician stops in front of the robots. He feels like they’re watching him…but they’re just robots. “Alright, guess we’ll start with the star of the show.” Grabbing onto F.reddy, the technician opens wide. He’s been given permission to scrap them however he wants. And they didn’t give him a lunch break so…

The robot’s head is forced into the technician’s maw. Not bad, kinda tastes like pizza. The man is a bit surprise when the robot seems to come alive and tries to push on his shoulders with its clunky movements. He grunts in surprise and takes a hard swallow, forcing himself down F.reddy’s shoulders. Wouldn’t hear things be turned off? Oh well, they’re not going to be working very well soon anyway.

Getting further down F.reddy’s chest, the robot's arms are forced down finally. The technician starts to move more steadily down the robot’s body. He doesn’t notice the other two watching him on either side, or how nervous the robots seem. F.reddy’s legs start lifting off the ground, kicking awkwardly in the air. The technician’s stomach is bloating out heavily as the bear is shoved in, his face stretching the skin tightly. It doesn’t seem to be causing any discomfort, though.

The technician tips his head back, slurping wetly to send those kicking legs down the hatch. His gut grows bigger until it finally slams into the ground with a thud, F.reddy’s twitching feet disappearing down the hatch. The technician slurps over his lips and pats his gut roughly a few times. “Alright, easy enough. Time for decommissioning.”

The man’s stomach begins to gurgle harshly. He grits his teeth and flexes his stomach. There’s the sound of bending metal, and F.reddy lets out a yell inside. Then the stomach roars out, mixing with the sound of screeching, warping metal. F.reddy’s voice box makes a mangled sound as it’s crushed. The defined bulge of the robotic bear is suddenly reduced to a lumpy, round shape that makes the man’s gut look a third the side. A deep, rumbling belch escapes the technician, F.reddy’s top hat hitting the ground and rolling away. “Woof…alright, one down. You’re next, B.onnie.”

B.onnie shifts slightly when his name is said. Before he can move, the technician grabs him by one of his ears and pulls him down. He starts to wave his arms around in a panic as his head is engulfed and the gulping begins again. He tries to grab onto the technician’s head, ut they’re forced down once a hard gulp gets down over his shoulders and chest. He kicks around, feet slamming into the ground over and over as he’s dragged into the technician’s gut. Boiling metal sludge is waiting for him, parts of endoskeleton and brown casing from F.reddy half melted and icing the rabbit a rough landing as he dives in.

The technician pushes down on B.onnie’s feet, shoving him all the way into his stomach. It sloshes thickly, hitting the ground again as another animatronic is forced in. “Hff…gotta call management after this and figure out who left you guys on. Should’ve been turned off…” Oh well, it’s not stopping his work. It’s barely even slowing him down. B.onnie shifts weakly inside the technician’s stomach, the slop up to his waist and the space groaning deeply.

The technician’s stomach clenches down again, B.onnie’s body folding like wet paper. He’s crushed down with a few screeches of breaking metal. The technician’s gut now hangs down to his knees, bubbling deeply and wetly, starting to pump some of that molten sludge deeper. Another wet belch blasts out of the tech and he rubs his gut slowly.

He hears something moving and looks over to see M.onty trying to stop away. He grabs the gator’s tail and lifts it up. “Nope, show time’s over.” He doesn’t even register the gator as trying to escape him. He sticks the tail in his jaws and slurps it up, dragging the clunky robot back. M.onty starts to thrash around, legs kicking and arms clawing at the ground uselessly. His body folds up with a clunk, knees at his chest.

The tech’s jaws stretch over M.onty’s torso and legs at once. The robot starts sinking down with wet gulps, getting lifted off the ground. When he’s up to his chest and knees, his tail dips into the boiling metal slurry, and the robot starts to move more erratically, jaws snapping at the air.

The tech braves himself on the wall and tips his head back. A wet, hard gulp and M.onty gets slurped down with a cry. His head and feet disappear together and he drops into the tech’s gut, making it slosh deeply and slam into the floor. The tech huffs and rubs his belly over the gator’s face. M.onty gets a few seconds to threads, making all that slop slosh around. Then the ut clenches down, crushing the gator with a roaring Becky out of the technician.

The tech Ian sighs as he starts waddling along, rubbing over his gut. It’s groaning and gurgling deeply, each step making the whole thing slosh like a water balloon. He can feel all that metal scrap shifting around inside and boiling slop pumping deeper. He’s getting fatter form it already, his clothes growing tighter over his form. His gut is hanging halfway down his shins now and each step is slow and awkward. He has one more robot to take care of…

Getting the Pirate’s Cover, the tech moves the sign aside. He pulls the curtains apart and is take by surprise with F.oxy suddenly lunging at him. He tries to scream, but he can’t. His maw is suddenly filled with robot as he’s knocked onto his back. F.oxy dives right down the man’s gullet, sinking in up to his knees. His metal feet kick slightly outside the tech’s jaws, but a gulp and a slurp sucks those down.

The tech gets back to his feet with a slight huff, his gut resting on the ground again. He rubs the back of his head, looking at his stomach as it bulges slightly from F.oxy’s thrashing. “Weird…guess that thing really was malfunctioning. Mmf, well…” He burps into his fist and flexes his gut. F.oxy goes still with a few wet crunches and a deep belch escapes the tech. “That’s the last of them. Decommissioning is going well, too. Mph…better get to the dumpster…”

Dragging himself along, the tech’s gut slowly starts to shrink back. As the animatronics are pumped away through his system, his stomach reduces in size. The rest of him begins to grow, though, more fat heaping onto his form. Even as his gut lifts up and gets easier to manage, he’s still stuck waddling, thighs pressing together as they grow and pants tearing over his expanding ass. His uniform’s shirt never does come down over his gut as it grows thicker and softer and his chest and arms strain it more. Even his face grows rounder and softer as he huffs.

By the time he gets to the dumpster, the man has tripled in size and his gut is groaning harshly. His torn pants means he doesn’t have to undress at least. With a bit of effort, he hears himself up to the side of the dumpster, massive cheeks sitting on the edge. With a grunt and a push, he begins to force the robots out.

A literal ton of shit comes cooking out rapidly. The tech’s immense control of his core goes to his bowels as well, and what light take someone hours to unload only takes a few minutes for him. The dumpster fills to the top fast, the shit two feet thick all around and dense and black. The stink is rotten and strong and little bite of metal and wiring pokes out occasionally. But it’s very little, most of the robots reduced to shit and fat. As soon as the massive log ends, the tech closes the dumpster and gets back to his feet.

“Better let management known the decommissioning is done. Hope that new P.izzaplex thing works out. They’re not getting these guys back…” With a soft burp, the tech heads back inside, leaving the old models as waste waiting to be disposed of.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Ideas for a scenario where the Reader meets the Creepypastas? Perhaps Laughing Jack, Slenderman, and Ben Drowned if that's okay with You?

Meeting Laughing Jack, Slenderman, and Ben! (platonic)

or as i like to say; reader being the main character and being spared by the silly monsters!! very heavy on the hcs in bens segment with the "hes stuck in electronic devices" thing i got going on with him eheheh platonic for the simple fact that this is a meeting post!

SLENDERMAN:

would it really be a meeting with slenderman if i didnt bring up his pages? i think i made a joke post somewhere where your vibe alone intrigued the entity enough not to krill you on the spot... and given how i sometimes write slenderman to be a curious creature, i think it would be fitting that we revisit that idea! though, i dont think you would properly meet on your first encounter; no i dont think you guys formally introduce yourselves to one another until a few days/weeks after the event, when you notice that hes taken to following you around and sticking to the side.. honestly in a weird way its endearing, youve gotten the attention of this old forest monster... creepy but cute! like a stray puppy but if the puppy was like ten feet tall and faceless! thanks to you looking into him on the trusty internet you already know who he is; but you decide to go talk to him anyways. probably go into his woods again after he initially lets you escape... kind of slowly cocks his head to the side when looking down at you and listening to you tell him your name... you kind of jump when you hear /his/ voice in your head telling you that he already knows your name.. friendship.. if you can even call it that, starts off as just him observing you and learning your routine for the first few weeks... youre going to have to make the first big moves in order to get that man to do more than watch

LAUGHING JACK:

whenever i think of scenarios for the reader meeting jack, it always circles back to one main idea. i personally think that jack is in some way tied to his box. you know, the box to his jack. that box.. i think its like a cursed object, like you get it and jack is going to start messing with you not long after. usually i imagine the reader purchasing him at a garage sale, and then the antics ensue... imagine waking up one night and seeing this giant clown leaning down to your face, his cone nose lightly poking the tip of your own nose... you shouldnt be blamed for being even just a little spooked! and.. well next thing you know you have this clown roommate. i think not freaking out is key in making sure you dont die? i mean lj thinks krilling is mostly a game thanks to isaac and usually the victim is well... scared, naturally.. perhaps being outwardly calm dismisses any idea that theres a game going on. shrugs, thats the only decent idea i have... now go domesticate that clown! make him your best friend! or your malewife if thats what you want! just know hes going to be attached to you by the hip; a friend who wont leave him! how fun!

BEN DROWNED:

sure i could say that you go to a garage sale and buy the DS ben is on but thats boring and jack already has the garage sale idea... so im going to be a little different here. i have a headcannon that about 80% of the time ben is tied to a device, but he does have the ability to hop around if theyre linked up in some way... i think a hard drive could work, how he got into one we dont know... but lets say you find a random one, and against your better judgement you decide to plug it into your computer... and oop...! you have a virus.. but no matter how hard you try to look for it you cant find anything... no one can find anything, but your computer is acting so.. weird... its not until it starts leaving notes that you think that someone is doing something... you think its some dark web stuff going on.. what could they want? you guys talk back and forth. at first its just you trying to figure out what the person wants, but over time it turns into just simple chatter... though theres still a tenseness. youre still convinced its someone remotely messing with your computer until that 20% of the time where ben isnt confined happens... needless to say youre absolutely shocked to find a random teenager in your room at your computer, getting water absolutely everywhere mind you! definitely going to need a minute to process whats going on; but honestly i think ben is less of a kriller and more of a troller, at least in my mind... does lead to you trying to find out what happened to him, and perhaps try to find a way for his soul to move on.. funky sibling dynamic, i think