#ic; death as means to a just life

[baiika]

*throws North at the inbox for either of the gurls to mess with. He's in perpetual agony.*

"All I got is weed, man."

[turtleblogatlast]

I am once again reiterating that Leo could and should be a figure skater because what are ice skates if not twin blades? What is dual blade swordsmanship if not a dance-like performance? Using the skates as blades themselves could let Leo make portals be his ice rink no? I rest my case. ⛸️

[redladydeath]

Having a RAM! Velvette thought.

I imagine once while she was alive (maybe she was even still a teenage) she was forced to do some court-mandated community service at a retirement home once and hated it. Old people were lame of course but it was the decay of minds and bodies that disturbed her. Old coots stuck in the past, asking about long-dead wives and wars that ended decades ago.

It was then she decided she’d never grow old. Dying young had never seemed a more appealing option. And what do you know, she got her wish.

She sometimes thinks back to that experience now. She also thinks back to how she used to call Vox old as a joke. Age didn’t matter in Hell, wasn’t supposed to. The sort of degradation of a mind stuck in loop wasn’t supposed to happen here, especially to a man who no longer had a physical brain.

Yesssss, I was playing around with a similar idea that maybe she'd had a grandfather or some other relative who'd dealt with dementia, but I hadn't settled on anything. This is a good take.

It's an unnerving situation for her on so many levels, because not only is she dealing with a loved one (who she didn't even realize she actually loved until now) suffering and losing his dignity, but suffering in a way she'd never thought would be possible down here.

[buildoblivionthenwewilltalk]

another take on my KitN!Jon based on a cool idea by @aemontargaryen-bloodraven about jon having a weirwood crown in twow (cos I read it and immediately became obsessed 😭)

[ahollowgrave]

Why shouldn't I have another ice based character

[stormcried]

TWO WEEKS BEFORE MEETING NEW FAMILY

Drake's body sat against a wall. His bottom on a wooden crate totally not endorsed by Mammon. It's the same song and dance every week or so. The arena fights. His arms folded against his chest. The heat sweltered against the teenager's hair. His humanoid face could sweat, but his upper and lower body couldn't. Funny how that worked out, didn't it? Yet, here he is. Doing the same thing. And for what? For a small chance at fame and fortune? For a chance to BE someone? Drake knows this is his only calling. His only chance to make himself of someone. He's been doing this for the last three weeks now. And people in the Wrath ring were starting to catch on easily. They were starting to actually see him. That's all he ever wanted. To be seen. To be anything. He's even got a new title. That meant something... right?

Drake's burning orange gaze glanced up to the door that leads to the arena itself. As if trying to mentally prepare himself. What could happen? Who would he face? It's always such a gamble with Wrath. Most of the time, he's fighting buff Imps or Hellborn. No other sinner would usually be caught living in this fucking wasteland. Except for Drake. There's only like... one or two metropolitan cities in Wrath, but, it's not really ruled by anyone as far as he's aware. That's where he's been getting his food and drink supplies. Mostly alcohol. Trying to drink himself to remember none of what he did, but they always reappeared. The memories, he meant. Drake knows that he can't linger much longer in here. He's got a fight to get to.

Hopping off of the wooden crate, with the sigil of Mammon on it, looking at it for a moment. This guy is everywhere. Weird. He shakes the feeling off. He needs to ready himself, regardless of who he faces. Drake untucked the pink, dirtied scarf that was reduced to a more darker pink due to how dirty and scuffed up it is. He needed to use his cash to find a repair shop. Next would be his hoodie and his tee. The last thing he needed was to bloody and dirty his clothes any more then he did. His topless body showcasing that hardened rock-like body. The glowing veins of his internal heat dimming in and out. He had a lava soak yesterday before he came back to the ring. Leaving his torso clothing in a clump on the crate, Drake inhales... and exhales deep. It's time.

"IN THIS CORNER... WE HAVE A RETURNING FIGURE ALL YOU FUCKERS MIGHT RECOGNIZE! OUR RISING STAR IN THE MAKING, TAKING DOWN TWO OF OUR TOUGHEST SONS OF BITCHES! GIVE YOUR HANDS FOR OUR YOUNGEST FIGHTER, COMING FROM WRATH ITSELF, SPITFIRE!"

Opening the door to the melting heat of Wrath's sun shining down upon him. Would Drake 'Spitfire' Conningway enter on the sandy dirt of the arena. Built like one of those old coliseums. Crowd cheers. Some booed. He didn't care. He's here to just get his paycheck. The last two cash rewards we absolute garbage. Most of the crowd sea of red with black and white. Imp spectators in this shithole. Drake's body shivered lightly with a anxiety he usually felt in this setting. Anything could happen. His heart racing, making his glow fade in and out faster.

"AND IN THIS CORNER, COMING FROM THE RING OF GREED DO WE HAVE OUR ALSO RETURNING CHAMPION. WATERSPIKE! THIS MERCILESS FUCK TEARING THE THROATS OF MANY FOES BEFORE HIM! WILL HE KEEP HIS TITLE OF RETURNING CHAMPION? OR WILL HE CHOKE ON HIS OWN BLOOD? WELCOME! TO WRATH'S ANNUAL DEATH MATCH. WE HAVE HIGH BIDDERS IN THE CROWD TODAY! THINGS DO NOT LOOK GOOD FOR YOUNG SPITFIRE. NO LOVE FOR WRATH, EH?"

"Oh shut th' fuck up..." Drake murmured in annoyance. Exiting the adjacent door some feet away from Drake would be a big son of a bitch. Greed Hellborn. Usual shark guys. His scales colored a dark blue like the ocean. No wonder why he's called Waterspike. Eyes colored a light orange. Scales a greyish color from the looks of it. Cracked sharp teeth littered his gums. This guy is bigger then Drake. He's not going to back down. Drake's took down adults before. He's killed one here and nearly killed another in this arena. He just had to bide his time. A snort comes from Waterspike.

"Damn. THIS is what took down two of Wrath's champions? I'm a little insulted that this ain't tougher. Well... more bigger." A shot at Drake's age AND height. Waterspike continued. "Heh. Ain' everyday I face a Sinner. Ya'll somes of bitches think you have it all, dontcha? I ain' afraid t'kill a kid. I'm representin' Greed. Ya got there, squirt?"

This guy talked too fucking much. Drake spat on the ground leaving a steamed splat on the dirt. "I frankly don' give a shit, dude. I don' give a shit who y'are. I'm just here t'make money. Nothin' else." Drake retorted. A chortle follows Waterspike.

"Y'got balls kid! Too bad y'ain' gonna live long enough to see yerself grow up."

"ALRIGHTY ALRIGHTY. I'M SURE YOU TWO CAN KISS AND MAKE UP LATER. WE GOT A FIGHT TO GET TO. GET TO YOUR CORNERS!" And so they did. Drake turned around and walked towards his door that he went to. Waterspike went to his adjacent door. His foot pressing against the dirt. Drake's bare foot pressing against the ground too. Then, Drake bounced up and down with his fists in the air, as if to hype himself up to the adrenaline rushing in his body. The only sounds were the cheers and screams of the Imp and Hellborn audience. "ALRIGHT, LET'S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD. 3...2...1... GET YOUR ASSES IN THERE AND KILL EACH OTHER!" The announcers voice ringing the large golden bell on the wall chimes. And in they go.

Drake made the first move wasting no time. His body sliding to the side as they would feel each other up. Moving around the ring, Waterspike looked vicious as all hell. This guy ain't messing around. Good. That meant he wouldn't be either. "C'mon kid, I wanna see what you got." Waterspike taunted. A furrowed expression on the teenagers face. "Don' you worry. I got plenty for ya." And so, Drake charges and makes a attempt on the first throw of his rock fist. A easy dodge from Waterspike follows. "Damn! Too slow! Guess bein' made of rock is hard, huh?" Drake growled. "I... SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Drake tries again. Throwing another two to three swings at Waterspike. He's just backing up from the punches. "Shit, kid. I almost feel bad for ya. Wanna know what a real punch looks like? Here I'LL SHOW YA."

Waterspike gripped Drake by the throat, picking him off the ground easily. He could EASILY snap the kids neck. But, Waterspike wanted to give the crowd a good fight. And this would be too easy money. And easily would a larger fist send the sinner skyrocketing across the dirt landing onto his back. Screams of amazement and cheering followed. Drake's world a daze. This guy hits HARD. Drake gritted his teeth, shaking off the pain for now. Since it was a clear shot to his humanoid face, the pain is there... also a bloodied nose already. Lava poured from his nostril landing onto the dirt. A laugh. "Aww... did I make ya bleed already? Should've stuck to playin' dolls kid. Yer in the big boys game now." Drake spat the taste of iron and lava off of his tongue. He gets back up. Not wanting this day to be his last. Drake grunted. "I ain' done yet, y'bitch." Drake growls.

"OOO... EVEN FROM A PUNCH LIKE THAT, HE'S NOT GIVING UP! TOUGH AS ROCK, AMIRIGHT FOLKS?" The announcers voice chimed through the speakers. Drake's burning gaze held onto Waterspike. They circled around one another again, Drake's pulse racing. He can't rely on his abilities to save him. He needed to play this game the right way, otherwise he's going to get screwed out of his paycheck. The longer the fight and bids, the better his pay would be. Waterspike made the first move, throwing his fist down to try and slug Drake into the ground, however the teenager easily throws himself to the side. Drake found a opening as a sudden fist would make it's way against Waterspike's side, his punch as hard as it could be. Only a laugh from Waterspike.

"Y'tryna tickle me? I thought you were supposed to be tough like rocks! Dissapointin'." A hard backhand of the opponent sent Drake to the floor sliding him against the dirt. This guy is just mere bulk. Drake isn't going to last much longer if he can't find a actual weakness. Drake punches the ground to get himself back up. His bloodied nose leaving droplets of orange into the sand. Drake staggered to his feet. He's always known how to fight. He had to teach himself when he was alive. More like petty scrap brawls and dirty fighting. But, that's about it. Drake's last two opponents were Imps. The lowest of the low. And now having to fight a REAL Hellborn? This is going to be hard.

Drake figured the only way he's going to best this guy, is to target that snout and face. He thinks that's the best option he's got. Drake's back on his feet, now having a actual battle plan of how to tackle Waterspike, he thinks. Drake thrusts himself forward swinging after swing, only landing one lucky shot to the side of Waterspike's face. "Damn! I actually SORTA felt that one!" He spits out a tooth. After all, he got punched by a literal rocky hand against a jaw. "My turn." Drake's hair would be gripped harshly, making him cry out in pain. Only to have his face thrown to the dirt landing hard on his face. More blood... Drake also thinks he's broken a tooth too. Drake's body wheezing trying to shake everything off. "C'mon kid, make this interesting. You're a wrath sinner and you're gettin' yer ass kicked by a HELLBORN. C'mon. You've got more in ya this this, right?" Drake is starting to get annoyed by this dumbasses talking. Drake would shudder and bring his palms to the dirt, forcing himself to be pushed up.

"Yer startin' t' bore me. Should just kill ya right here n'now." Drake's... not DONE. 'Spitfire' would pull himself to his feet. "I... SAID... SHUT.. THE FUCK UP." A instant headbutt would follow to Waterspike's snout sending a splatter of black blood onto his forehead and face mixing with lava blood sending Waterspike stumbling backwards in pain. Drake rubbed his forehead knowing there'd be a bruise on there. A growl follows the Greed hellborn. "Now YA PISSED ME OFF." Drake's throat is gripped again, and easily thrown like a rag doll against the wall. A sudden 'splinter' noise follows Drake's body. Meaning a cracked rock part. Blood would spill. "Shit!" Drake mustered out. Lava coated the wall. They're both bloodied now at least.

"WELL LOOK AT THAT! SPITFIRE'S FINALLY GOT HIMSELF A GOOD SHOT. WAS STARTING TO THINK HE LOST HIS EDGE." Drake shook off the pain. Drake is at least getting somewhere. Drake's fists came back up to his face. Showing he's still in this fight. Waterspike, enraged would begin his own onslaught of swings towards Drake's body. Drake found it a bit easier to dodge those since he could tell that Waterspike is getting more angry. Emotions ran high in this kind of place. Another shot easily finds Drake's cheek sending him staggering back to his knees for a moment, but Drake had no time to register it. He had to get out of the way of the bruised knuckles of Waterspike. Drake too is getting desperate. This is going on far too long. Drake's limits being tested now.

Slam after slam, Drake is finding it harder to maneuver around it. Teeth gnashed at his body as if threatening to snap him in half. Of course if he DID that, Waterspike would've choked on Lava blood. Which is death for the both of them. Drake's body slammed to the side again by a large tail, thrusted against the ground harshly where Drake's body would curl up a bit. He's losing too much heat. Too much movement and energy is cost effective on his body which is WHY he had did a bath soak yesterday, but, he's losing a lot of blood, his lava supply. So, That meant he's losing more energy. Drake had to end this, otherwise he's going to die here. From Waterspike or from his own lava loss. Drake can't play around anymore. Drake coughed a few bits of magma from his throat splattering the ground.

"Guess y'had enough, huh? Hate t'say it kid. But this was a fuckin' disappointing fight. You should've just stayed where you belonged." Waterspike's foot raised above Drake's head to crush his skull. And Drake... didn't move... not for a moment. Drake's blood becoming hotter and hotter at this point. Smoke began to emit from the crevices of his wrists, wisping like it were being cooked. Drake's irises burning a brighter orange color. His body glowing a more orange-yellow that outshined his rock exterior. As soon as Waterspike would shove his foot down, Drake shoved himself out of the way. Pure, untainted anger and rage burning his blood. Boiling and bubbling. Orange glowing from his eyes didn't even register anything in front of him. Only that gritted, and bare teeth expression. Waterspike raising his brow. "You still want more? Then come on, you little fuck! I can do this all day!" Waterspike again, charged towards Drake, however, Drake made NO attempts to move out of the way. His eyes focused only on Waterspike raising his jaws to snap his head clean off. And yet, with one simple stroke, the jaws miss... and a bubbling, magma coated fist found itself onto Waterspike... no.. not onto... INTO.

Drake's body adjusted itself in a swift motion, punching a hole STRAIGHT THROUGH Waterspike. Gasping, gurgling noises could be heard from Waterspike. His stomach the main area that Drake's magma coated fist made its way into. Blood coughed and splattered onto Drake's hair and forehead. His rage stated expression still etched onto the teenagers face. Letting his arm sit there for a moment. Letting the Greed Shark's intestines cook alive, only for Drake to forcefully pull his arm back out. Stained with organs and blood. Waterspike stumbled backwards... the crowd went absolutely silent. Gasping and gagging for words. However, found none. Drake still stood there. Menacing, and letting the shark die on his own. Holding his intestines that were blackened and burnt. Only for the larger shark to fall down, lifeless. Blood pooling around the shark with his eyes rolled back. Drake too... fell onto his back. Exhuastion overwhelming now. The smoke state gone, only leaving a very dim and lightly flickering teenager in its wake.

"I...SATAN FUCKING SHIT! ITS OVER! I DON'T BELIEVE IT! SPITFIRE CAME OUT ON TOP! SOME SORT OF... POWER RESERVE INSIDE OF HIM! WRATH WINS!" And the crowd cheered/ Many those who betted on Waterspike booing and leaving their seats in a fit of rage. Drake's battle over. Panting and wheezing in the adrenaline still rushing through his body. Drake's forehead and chest covered in blood of his own and Waterspike's blackened blood. He needed a break for a little while... maybe for a good while... hopefully the cash he'd get would be worth it. After all, he just toppled a literal champion of these fighting pits. So; maybe the bets he got would be satisfying too. Drake just... closes his eyes for a moment.. letting the sun of Wrath soaked his body. Making him feel SO alive in this moment. Maybe that's why he did these... just to feel alive in some sort of way.

[orcelito]

I think the hardest part of it all is that this is just my fucking life now. For the rest of my life. It's so goddamn Permanent for something that I had barely over a day's warning for :/

[psycadenza]

hc

Tristan - psy/der - is actually one of the most EFFICIENT and SUCCESSFUL spider-people . this is in large thanks to his superior spider-sense and telepathy, after all, it’s difficult for villains to defeat an opponent who knows their every thought & move . he’s EXTREMELY good at defeating his enemies, whether through battle or talking them down . he understands his opponents on a level many spider-people don’t, both in terms of their abilities and personal stories . his empathy is a big strength, as he’s been known to help several criminals and villains alike to get on the road to rehabilitation .

the ONLY reasons he’s less renowned and known is 1) doc ock, kingpin, and venom keep him from perfect success rates as he often is unable to fully capture/defeat them for personal reasons and 2) his extreme anxiety and natural affinity for staying in the background . by and large, he’d rather stay out of the spotlight, so he does his best to AVOID big missions or making a splash in any capacity . but overall, especially when it comes to his home universe, PSY/DER IS AN EXTREMELY SUCCESSFUL SPIDER-PERSON .

[stolencrownsofplenty]

Anonymous

Do not forget where you have come from or risk becoming everything you hate in the haze of power.

Through the shining, crimson light that had been cast down upon the pair of you, the dark colors of the ram's faded brown clock face towards you as they looked out through the crystalized glass that loomed over them in their very church. It'd be close to nightfall you had decided to visit them just near when their colony had already been prepared to settle down for the night, to prod the Leader of the very society that had held up the boundaries of their believers' foundation. You prod them to remember, to not forget where they had once came from, to not risk becoming consumed by the very crowns they had stolen in their silent quest of vengeance and prosperity. Not everyone remembered where they had once came from, as a little lamb that had once meant to be led to slaughter... And even for a pest, the Emperor would often reminders of like yours for what they lack, you were a persistent wasp in their ears.

Although they had hardly pulled themselves from their previous book to generally greet you when you came in, their grip tightened upon the spine of their journal; practically near forcing them to snap their novel shut as their ears perked up at your uprise in words. They did not turn to face you, not even from where they stood just behind their alter, as they slowly lifted their head up from their reading; only moving to look up towards the alone glass pane that allowed light to spill over you both. Do not forget. Do not risk everything you've made in favor of protecting your own flock. They felt those words echo amongst their tiring thoughts.

Memory was often little of use to them now, that they've hidden deep within their heart. Faces of those they once grown up with, so blurred and out of reach they could hardly recall if they even lived as a person people have claimed them to be. A mortal, a sheep, a harmless little creature they had once been. How can they remember such things like these, when all they could summon from the first of their memories... When their final and first death had been all they felt sting amongst the beginning of their shining rebirth. How could they forget their own death, when it had led them to the betrayal of their only and last Master's greed for their own life and freedom? They had started from ashes, and for their shadowed past had been made in that cat's making...

How can you remember something if all you were but a shell of something else? All they felt in their chest was an empty home, a family lost to time and graves made to be broken, and a body they had to share for the survival of their own darken company. What a cruel thing to say, when you have memories to go back to unlike they.

They turn to you then and smile, their ears perking up at your sudden intrusion of their empty church as they felt you approach them closer into their space. "I can't say I haven't thought of that, once or twice." Their cloak opens, allowing them the space to clasp their hooves together. "Yet that's often the balance you'd have to burden, if you were to lead a life such as us. But I can't say I had that choice, if my memories had long left me for this noble path." The Emperor tilts their head at you, as if slightly amused by this little notion.

"Maybe you could tell me more about this, maybe over some tea, perhaps?" Without even moving, the harsh stare of their red crown looks down upon you, a familiar tendril quickly takes you by your neck as it hangs you in the air the next moment. "I'd hate to have you going so soon, as it'd be rude of me to treat a guest poorly in my own home after all." The tendril tightens then, the air being swift to choke you as you let out a gasp. "We might even get along, if your memories shall serve me better than for you. But alas.. I have so little time and so much to do. So be a dear-," and without a second thought, the anon had been quickly taken down through the depths of a portal that does to their ghoulish realm, their soul fleeing quick to the confines of their crowns-, "and make yourself comfortable, won't you?"

I do pity you though. For a mortal with a voice to speak their thoughts, I wouldn't have to forget what isn't there to begin with. Yet, how could you understand, if you hadn't have a family to take care of like I do?

[balladetto]

unprompted / always accepting / anonymous

"How old are you, Link?"

     Link imagines it like this.

     If he could exist the way light does when it refracts, dispersing into a kaleidoscope of colours from a single point, each footstep he takes would be haunted by a hundred different shadows. They are moments he can't sear from his memories, all separated by shapes and spaces he's had to fill for each one: he is the Hero of Time, nine summers, small enough that he only needs to ball up for his shield to cover him. He is the Hero of Time, sixteen summers, big enough that the habitual full-body strength he swings his sword with takes a Wolfos down far quicker than his heart had anticipated.

     He is nine, afraid of touch. He is sixteen, afraid of the dark. He is nine, left behind. He is sixteen, choosing to go back. He is nine, wiping Deku Baba sap from the back of his hands. He is sixteen, closing his eyes against the blood-splatter of a man whose ichor he still feels between his fingers. Link is nine and sixteen and everything beyond and in between—

     He is the distorted reflection of someone's son, cursed to a terrible fate. He is Darmani the Third, so old that they ask him to be the next Goron Elder. He is Mikau, killed too young, but grown enough that the blood of Zoran heroes sings loud in his stolen veins. He is nobody he knows how to be, maybe ten summers, dreaming about years that didn't happen and living through cycles of days he's long since stopped counting.

     If he could exist the way light does when it refracts, he'd wave a hand at these silhouettes. He is any of them. He is all of them. He is none of them. Time is kind of real, and it kind of isn't.

     Link answers like this.

     He holds both hands up, fingers visibly splayed. Ten. His right one drops and his left turns level to the ground, seesawing up and down from thumb to pinky. Give or take. He smiles, a huff of something that might be amused for a joke that's only funny to him — which is to say, it's not very funny at all. However much time needs to be given or taken.

[baiika]

//aight... i'm migrating nemu & karin here. i Dislike toggling between blogs

[knightinoldarmor]

@ofdetonation wanted to break my heart and did it with success and asked:

“please don’t go” / for shouto, make me cry

send “please don’t go” to hold my muse while they die.

In your last moments, your whole life flashes before your eyes, they said. For Shoto, it was Bakugo he'd stare at, and he wouldn't have wanted it to be any other way. The blond was the only one strong enough to look him directly in the eyes, as he'd let out his last breath. The only one able to shoulder the weight of his loss. It was him, who despite the difficulties, could break through every barrier. The one who wouldn’t break — not because he couldn’t, but because he chose to look at the world differently. A view where defeat and despair could only be the spark towards victory and understanding. Not his death, nor anything, could move his heart off balance. Or so he thought.

A fog had taken over his mind, in a rush to find the things he wanted to say. A pointless struggle, when he hadn't the time nor the clarity to concentrate. Not when he'd lose consciousness little by little, as if slowly fading from existence. So many things he wished his family and friends knew. But it was too late, and regret shouldn’t be the last he felt. Crimson hues were pinned on him, a gaze whose intensity would have been powerful enough to keep him bound to his body forever, if possible. As if piercing right through him, in an attempt to anchor his soul to this world. One that wasn't meant to last long.

He was familiar to the darkness. For how many years he used to wander, in the search of himself, of the hope and reason that'd give his existence meaning? Meaning, other than being born to serve as a tool for revenge. A role he became a prisoner to, blinding him with the same hatred to haunt his father and his brother. For so long, he'd avert his gaze from the light, believing it to be something he shouldn't reach for. Undeserving of love and kindness he'd think he was. Undeserving of the warmth of an EMBRACE.

Yet, in the embrace of a friend he'd die. How ironic. In the arms of a friend to have always been a beacon to guide him. “ It's alright. ” A smile he'd wear for the first and last time, one of absolute bliss, was written on his face. He didn’t want to die. But to know he had lived before he left, lived as the person he wished to become, the hero to save his family, was a gift he never thought he'd carry with him in the next life. “ I was lost for so long. I thought I'd forever be. ” Scared and tired, he used to be. “ But I discovered who I was. I found happiness. ” He had found the light. A light that’d rest within him, warming his heart, melting the ice he had wrapped himself with. And that light, had now begun to tremble. He wouldn’t be afraid, when a darkness of a different kind would surround him.

It was getting harder to breathe. His hand reached to cup the blond’s face. “ You were always there. All the way. I know it. ” Like an angel watching over him, aware of his struggles and pain, not intervening, only with subtle acts of kindness, but always staying close, in case he was needed. “ Thank you, Katsuki. For everything. ” His eyes lost focus. He could feel the drops falling on his face, as his senses began to fade. When did it start raining? The scent of wet ground reached him — one last comfort he always was fond of.

“ I like rain. ”

[deathfavor]

Anonymous said: seiroku, could you ever see yourself being friends [or in a relationship but that seems far fetched for you] with anyone? if you could choose at least one person and they'd accept who would you pick?

   “  That’s rather rude of you to just make an assumption like that.  “  Seiroku raises an eyebrow slightly with an unimpressed stare at the comment, letting silence add to the weight of his remark before he decides to actually answer what has been asked of him.

   It wasn’t that Seiroku didn’t want that connection with others. On the contrary. If they were equals, then it was feasible.. But that wasn’t in the spirit of the Obsidian Eight. Despite the claims of brotherhood - they really were all just a pack of monsters who were pursuing the same matter. Smaller groups within it perhaps, but the bonds weren’t particularly strong if he really thought about it. Especially with certain members. He’d made the efforts and for what? Nothing. Nothing, every single time. Really, he didn’t know why he tried anymore.

   “  Maybe some day, assuming I live to that point. I’m not opposed to the thought of friends or a relationship with someone. But I agree that the odds are not in my favor for either of those, one way or another.  “  He shrugs his shoulders slightly, expression calm and carefully crafted.  It was a nice thought though. Having a friend, or group of friends.. Even a partner. They weren’t such bad thoughts, although both thoughts were certainly strange contemplations when he’d only focused on a path of hatred and bloodshed. It wasn’t the sort of contemplation that came up normally.  ( Except after a few drinks, when it’d slither in like a snake to the coop. Thoughts he should cut off but couldn’t help but to observe.  )

   “  One person? How does one even choose that? I don’t know. “  He tilts his head for a moment.  “  Someone who won’t disappoint me.  “  Someone who won’t betray him.

[chuluoyi]

fear

- gojo satoru x reader

his best friend’s defection is still a hard topic for him to swallow, and it leads into an unexpected argument that spurs you to leave, only to unlock a new fear in him when you get into an unfortunate accident afterwards.

genre/warnings: angst, gojo being mean, one scene with a worried nanami *wink*, injured reader, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end

notes: *sigh* my coping mechanism is still gojo’s past arc, which is why this piece takes place on that timeline. just a little context: reader is in the same class with nanami & haibara and was in the same mission that took haibara's life. this is probably the longest oneshot i've written so far sooo… enjoy! :)

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

A year and a half had passed since Suguru embarked on his path as a curse user. In that one year and a half, Satoru had finished his last year at Jujutsu High, and now was in the halls of his alma mater, speaking to the newly appointed headmaster who was none other than his teacher.

"You're applying to become a teacher?" Yaga asked again with a frown. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. Granted, he was his most troublesome pupil. "Why, Satoru?"

"If I said it's because I want to train young sorcerers to be strong, would you believe me?"

That was not a lie. It was actually 50% of his main reasons anyway. The other 50% was to repent what he missed with Suguru when he chose his dark path—his contempt with the current system of this jujutsu world.

"I would," Yaga responded gruffly. To him, Satoru was irritating, but he also knew that he was also extremely capable, and thus everything he did wasn't just out of nowhere. "But you still have to submit your applications. We can't make an exception even if you come from a prestigious clan."

"That's fine with me," he grinned. "Thanks, sensei."

On summer days, he'd get reminded of Suguru and silly things they had done together. Eating shaved ice, cycling together, driving either you, Shoko or Nanami mad. Satoru missed those days, it hadn't been the same ever since. Not knowing if his best friend was alright—if he was still alive at all—was exhausting.

Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one who was affected by his departure, the only one who stayed right where Suguru left him. Shoko didn't seem ruffled, if anything she just went to more bars and pachinko parlors as of late. Nanami was always a recluse, he never disclosed his feelings. You mourned him, but it was clear that most part of you would always be more focused on Haibara's death.

Satoru understood that he couldn't force anyone to feel what he felt, and he had no right to. But sometimes, he just wanted someone to connect with at his level. Someone to get him just like Suguru did.

And so when he got back to his condo that night—just right next to the one he rented for Megumi and Tsumiki, since he had moved out of his dorm—to find his girlfriend there with a big smile and a tray of cupcakes, unaware of everything and anything, he merely scoffed to himself.

"Satoru, you're back," you acknowledged, beaming like the sunshine you were. "I just baked these for the kids. Do you want some?"

Usually he'd smother you, throw some pickup lines here and there and say yes, but today, he just felt drained. "No." And with that, he stalked away to the bathroom, not glancing back at you.

It was wrong. But tonight he just wanted some peace and quiet, and so keeping his silence seemed to be the best choice as he didn't want to start a pointless argument with you. But you weren’t anything but observant, and definitely noticed that something was amiss with him.

"Are you... alright?" You approached him warily after he came out of the bathroom with wet hair. "Where were you today?"

"Just somewhere," he replied curtly. Afterwards he turned on the hairdryer, drowning the whole place with the noise even as you stood behind him with a visible question mark.

But you were still there after he dried his hair. "Is something bothering you?" you asked with a tilt of your head, concerned. By all means, you mean well. You just wanted to know if he could use your help at all.

When you pulled that expression, he couldn't help feeling annoyed, like he wanted you to take a hint, but you just didn't. "If you know, then just shut it."

It was probably the first time since the two of you got together that Satoru actually said something harsh. But you still tried to be reasonable though, bless you.

"Satoru, I don't know what got into your nerves like this, but I think sleeping through it might help. Have a rest."

"Why are you talking as if you know it?" he snapped, finally turning to you with his cold gaze. "You might not know anything, so don't be a know-it-all. Just mind your own business."

Now you were frustrated with his reply. "Once again, I don't know what happened to you. But if you're taking it out on me because I'm the closest you have—"

"Who said that?" Satoru didn't know where he got all this venom from. It was just at the forefront of his mind and he just got the urge to spew it. "You're considering yourself closest to me? Where did you get that big head from?"

You were aghast, and you blinked a few times to get your bearings. "Let me guess, it's about Geto-san, isn't it? Or the higher ups. Either of that must be what causing you to blindly place your anger on me."

"So what if it was? It isn't like you'll understand anyway."

"Satoru," you started, trying to even your breathing. "What happened to Geto-san isn't your fault. I've been telling you this. It can't be helped—"

"Can't be helped?" he jeered. "Do you know why it has come to this?" his tone took a dangerous edge as he stepped closer. He reached for you, grasping your wrist.

"Maybe because I was too blind back then. If it weren't for you—if only I didn't spend that much time on you, maybe he would still be here."

Did he just say that? Did he just imply that he had regretted the two of you getting together?

You felt your lower lip start to tremble and something seemed to obscure and blur your vision, making it hard to see him clearly. "You... don't mean that."

"Really?" the corner of his lips curled into a disparaging smile. "You never know. Before you know it, this can be over already. After all, I could have anyone out there that I want. Maybe someone less nosey than—”

That did it. You wrenched your arm out of his grip violently, as your first tear fell. His smirk vanished too, replaced with a total stillness to cover his sudden panic that was followed by a sudden sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"You selfish, self-obsessed jerk," you hissed through watery eyes. He was taken aback, even amidst your anger and possible fear of him, your still managed to throw daggers at him. "Fine. You have it. I'll see myself out."

Satoru never wanted you to leave. Honestly, he would've made you stay. But he wasn't in the right state of mind and it was too late to take back what he said. He didn't want to mess this up even further.

You left the cupcakes, even throwing it away just to spite him. Driven by pain and humiliation, you choked back your sob and didn't spare a glance at him as you shut the door.

Peace and quiet. There he had it, he thought as he clenched his fists, at the cost of everything else.

Leaving that condo, every step you took felt like needles piercing your shattered heart. You wiped your tears roughly. No, you refused to cry over such asshole. He made it clear, didn't he? Whatever it was that you two shared, it was at the cost of his best friend leaving him. So now the blame was on you.

If you were thinking clearly, you would've understood that his words were likely a result of his own pent-up pain and frustration that he had kept to himself for some while. But you had no patience for that or even pinpoint what you felt right now—anger, disappointment or dread, or perhaps all three. You just felt wrongly accused.

Your feet brought you back to your dorm in the school. Now it wasn't as bustling as it once were. After Satoru and Shoko's graduation, you didn't really get close to anyone. There was Ichiji, but he treated you more like a mentor rather than a classmate.

As you sank into the comforts of your bed, You replayed the events, trying to find where it went wrong—and found nothing. After all, you had already said all that could be said. It wasn't just him who lost Geto, but you, Shoko and Nanami did too, but it was more convenient for Satoru to blame everyone else rather than trying to understand that they too shared this pain.

Nevertheless, you were disappointed. You didn't expect half of what he spouted, and it got you doubting everything you had.

"You've royally fucked up."

Satoru exhaled, glaring at Shoko through the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."

The reverse cursed technique user threw him a blank stare, taking in everything from his disheveled hair to his wrinkled trousers. "Gojo, as much as I can’t care less about your sorry ass, I'm saying this not out of concern for you, but rather for Y/N. You are an asshole."

The puff of smoke she blew expanded to create a cloud-like shape. "Yaga-sensei was our teacher. His student is now a mass murderer and wanted dead. Can you even imagine how he feels? And I can't believe I'm saying this—but weren't there three of us?"

A week had gone by and instead of doing the right thing like trying to get into your good graces, Satoru was in Shoko's infirmary in the headquarters instead. He didn't exactly know what he was looking for by going here. Maybe some lingering taste of his happier student days, and Shoko was the only one remaining.

Three of us, huh... she was right. That was precisely why he came here after all.

"You're just sulking because it seems no one cares about your best friend being the best there is. But have you thought about how our juniors also lost Haibara? Right in front of their eyes? Haibara was our friend too."

He was wrong, of course he was. Satoru realized that now. But it felt wrong to ask for your forgiveness now, not to mention the disrupting thought he had—should he let you go for good altogether?

The phone suddenly rang with such fervor that made Shoko utter a swear word. She was on call duty for the rescue team today, and it was supposedly a peaceful day until Satoru decided to barge in to become her company. "Hello? Ichiji? What—speak clearly, I can't hear you."

She switched it to loudspeaker. "...iri-san! Ieiri-san—h-help—please—"

It was noisy, and blaring at the same time, and Ichiji was... Sobbing? Choking? His voice was terribly muffled and—

"L/N-san!" he cried, and Satoru remembered at that moment that you should be in a mission with Ichiji, he remembered you telling him before.

"Hic—s-she fell... hic—she fell! B-blood! She i-is bleeding so much! I-Ieiri-san—hic—s-send help! Please!"

"Hey, stay awake. Breathe. Just breathe."

Everything hurt. Most notably, your head. You could hardly think straight when all you felt was blinding pain and how your breaths came in short wheezes. 

Your vision was blurry. The numbness had started to set in and chills ran up and down your spine. You couldn't make out who in front of you was. Was it Ichiji, who went with you in this mission? The only thing that glared was blue.

"You can't sleep, you hear me?" the voice was commanding, willing you to do his bidding. It was familiar, but usually his tone of voice was much lighter, happier.

Satoru.

But why was he here? He wasn't in this mission. It was supposed to be a mission for you and Ichiji.

You remembered getting the cursed spirit after manifesting your domain expansion, until in its last ditch attempt, it went after Ichiji. You had no choice—even when your cursed energy had burned out, you still shoved him away at the cost of being flung from the top of a building.

Not again. Not after Haibara. You’d gladly pay the price if it meant you didn't have to see anyone die in front of you again.

"I..." You managed to croak out—breathing hurt, and you felt your hands being grasped tightly.

"Hey, just breathe. Y/N. Look at me.” Through your blurry haze, you focused on that cold blue, and you saw him. Satoru's sharp eyes, pursed lips and frown. He's really here.

Satoru always said that if there was a cursed spirit apocalypse, then Ichiji would be the first to die. You used to scold him for that, but now as you a laid here possibly dying in your own pool of blood, you found it to be true.

Yet at the same time you knew that with him here, Ichiji must be safe already, and it gave you reassurance so great even when you were on the verge of dying. "I... can't..."

"Yes, you can. Just look at me," he firmly rebuked, his voice came out in a hiss. For all the time you had been with him, you had never heard him so forceful. "If you close your eyes now, I won't forgive you. So please, just hang in there."

It was a struggle to take in any air and darkness encroached on your vision as your consciousness began slipping away.

And everything faded to nothingness.

Satoru honestly thought he had no fears. His worst fear had fully realized after all—Suguru going away into the darkness. What more could he possibly fear?

But when he heard Ichiji's distress call for rescue team, about how you fell from a rooftop of a building and unconscious, he realized that it was a fear he didn't know existed. His mind got disoriented and he teleported to the scene on impulse. He just had to see it for himself. With their petty argument still lacking closure, he felt even worse.

And the sight before him gave him so much fright he never thought was possible.

It was a mistake, he should have brought Shoko along.

You had laid there like a broken doll, your eyes dimmed, and not been able to breathe. He desperately tried to keep you awake, his presence beside you, yet it didn't seem to matter. He watched helplessly as you passed out in his arms.

Satoru felt nothing. The panic that had set in was suddenly gone as your limp body slumped against him, replaced by incessant ringing in his ears and tremor wracking his nervous system. It wasn't long until the rescue team came to retrieve you and even then he still felt numb. He rejected the idea that you might possibly die on him.

That went on until Shoko, who assisted in the emergency treatment, came out of the surgery, sweat on her forehead.

"It's even worse than the aftermath of the guardian deity mission last year," Shoko explained with a grim expression. "Her brain has sustained damage and it affects everything. It may take her quite a while before she can go back to the field."

When she said that, Satoru felt terror washed over him again. You almost died—was all he perceived.

The two of you had no contact for a week just because of his ego. He could still recall that day with vivid clarity, feeling a burning ache in his chest. If someone were to ask him what heartbreak was like, now he certainly would he able the to tell them the two instances in which he experienced them. What he felt now mirrored the same stinging sensation he had felt when Suguru left him.

He visited you when he was allowed to, and you were still unconscious, with many machines connected to your body. It was a sight he still couldn’t bring himself to get used to. He had seen you injured before, but never seen you in your own pool of blood, so this made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Stupid," he whispered, gently rubbing your forehead. His eyes remained fixated on you as you rested, his insides still churning with emotions. "You're not weak, and you're not hopeless." Once upon a time, Satoru might have thought of you as weak, but now he knew better.

"So why you always pick the worst decision?" The more he thought this could've been avoided, the more irked he was. The thought that he could have done something to prevent it intensified the sting of guilt, and he continued to punish himself with it.

And the more he dwelled on the idea that he had hurt you prior to this, the tighter his breath became.

But that was who you were. Self-sacrificing to a fault. And he loved you for that. There was no way of him letting you go now.

It astonished even himself—that he was capable of this love thing. At first it was an attraction, but now that you had been going on for more than a year, it felt like it was no longer a silly infatuation after all.

"Hurry and wake up, will you?" Satoru gently brushed your hair aside, his eyes fixed on you. He didn't know it even as his gut twisted, his frown deepened and his touch quivered, that he was worried sick. "I have a lot to make up for."

And he left you with a tender brush of his lips against your forehead.

Nanami Kento was the first person you saw when you awoke from coma.

You struggled to regain your senses, still feeling absolutely broken. The dull throb on the back of your head was still there, and as if you had found yourself trapped in a fog, you were only able to move sluggishly.

"You're awake?" his gruff voice greeted, laced with concern. In his hand were a bucket of fresh flowers and fruits basket, which he soon placed at the table next to your bed.

It was unexpected, because ever since the tragedy that costed Haibara's life, the two of you had been drifting apart.

You nodded, and let out a hum in response—all you could manage at the moment.

"Thank God." Nanami sounded relieved as he pinched the bridge between his eyes, and you were moved that he had shown this degree of concern.

Your remaining classmate, who suffered the burden of Haibara's life just like you. He was always quiet or brooding somewhere, hiding his own feelings.

You felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes. The fact that he visited you meant that he hadn't decided to cut you out of his life yet.

"Gojo-san is out today, but he'll be back by afternoon," he said, mistranslating your tears as some sort of a want to have your annoying—ex?—boyfriend at your side.

The two of you were still not on talking terms, weren’t you?

You so badly wanted to say thank you to him—and tell him that no, you weren't looking for Satoru—but it came out hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" Nanami then realized what you were trying to say, and a faint smile graced his lips. "Just... get well soon, L/N. Have a good rest."

Just before you drifted back to sleep, you could hear him sigh and mutter, "Hello, Gojo-san? L/N has awakened. Just letting you know is all.”

You weren't sure how much time had passed when you woke up the second time, but the curtains were already drawn and only darkness came from the window. Your body felt lighter, but you still felt like a mess and and couldn't help but groan in discomfort.

Satoru was there, he perked up at the noise you made. And you realized that it was the first time in about a week that he faced you after that disasterous almost-breakup.

He walked up to you, his expression was more hopeful than you had ever seen him before, like a kid whose wish had been granted. He slowly shifted to sit beside you.

"Hey, welcome back." His voice was soft. It was a change of pace for him, as you were used to seeing him all loud and silly.

Now your voice no longer sounds like a lead. "Hey."

"How are you feeling?" he asked and you took a moment to look at him. He was smiling, but exhaustion reached his bright eyes, dimming them. "You know, with the whole you passing out and almost dying thing?"

His words were almost humorous as he spoke, like he didn't know what else to say except try to lighten the mood, but there was also a strain on his tone, like he was holding back.

"I'm quite fine now, I suppose..." You still felt the lingering pain and dizziness as you slowly sat up. Satoru reached out to steady you—and you realized how his fingers trembled when they made contact with your body—as his brows furrowed with worry when you winced.

"You don't look like it though." His voice dropped and the humor was gone, replaced by this haunted look. You blinked. It was probably the first time you had seem him this ruffled.

He immediately pulled you into a hug, cradling your head to his neck gently, as if to protect and shield you from the world altogether. Exhaling heavily, he leaned on you. "You scared me, you know that?"

You wondered out loud if you really had that hold over him. "Did I?"

"You can't do that to me, you hear?" Satoru stroked your hair, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. His voice quivered. “Don't ever do that again.”

He pulled you tighter against him, but still careful not to crush you.

You let out a snicker, letting go of everything you felt during this horrible week. "Heh, afraid to lose me, huh?"

"Shut up,” he grumbled. “What were you thinking anyway? How did you calculate that freefalling is better than letting that cursed spirit attack Ichiji?”

"He was defenseless. He could die, you know that."

"And you also can," he quipped, upset, pulling away enough to look you squarely in the eyes, his eyes devoid of any expression, yet filled with a raging wave that you could only interpret as undiluted concern.

The emphasis in his tone made you recoil and feel guilty. If you were in his shoes, you probably would've said the same thing and so you had nothing to say to that.

But the more pressing agenda in the list was the unspoken silent treatment the two of you saw fit to use against each other for the last few days. Satoru was the one who decided to address it first.

"About that night..." he faltered, looking away. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry."

Satoru always had trouble processing emotions. This time too. He must've a hard time dealing with the anxiety caused by the possibility of him losing you for good, no matter how much he tried to be unaware of it.

"..." You wanted to respond, to make him understand your point, but somehow right now you were just too weary. And he sensed your reluctance. So you blurted the first thing that gnawed at your mind.

“You said you could have any other women out there—”

"No, really—" he started to panic, and it was blatantly too, which surprised you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Us. I don't regret anything. I’m not breaking up with you. Being with you is the happiest I've been ever since Suguru left."

“That's...” you blinked, before letting out a small sigh. “Okay. Fine then. Let's just put it behind us for now.”

“I—” he almost wheezed, his bright blue eyes were overtaken with sheer urgency to explain how wrong everything had been that night. “You must know that I didn’t mean any of it. And that I hate hurting you the way I did. I won’t—”

"Satoru, I understand," you let out another sigh, fidgeting with your fingers. "Sometimes when I’m reminded of Haibara, I also get sad. I don't want to presume but I think I know how you feel. Just next time, maybe," you shifted your gaze on him, seeing how you had his attention fully. Gojo Satoru, the strongest now, was looking at you as if you had his fate in your hands. "Just tell me if you need space and I would have understood."

"Yeah, okay, sure," he responded immediately, relieved, before a lopsided grin appeared on his face, turning him back into your dork slash boyfriend. "So, am I forgiven now?"

"A thank you would be nice."

In the end, he chuckled, seemingly resigned. "You should sleep more."

He positioned himself into bed next to you, and you let him pull you into his chest again. You could feel how his taut back started to relax upon the contact. He pressed his lips on your forehead in a fleeting kiss.

"Promise me you won't pull that stunt again.”

You smirked. "I can't. What if Ichiji—"

"Then just let him die."

You swatted his arm playfully, pressing your head to his chest as he continued to run his fingers on your hair. He cushioned you carefully, and you felt the tension in him slowly melt away with each breath you took. In your mind, you figured he needed this closeness more than you did, if anything, for the sake of his sanity.

“I love you,” he whispered by your ear, kissing it lightly.

“Mmhm.”

As you felt Satoru's calming presence, it helped ease you into slumber. You soon found yourself in a deep sleep, comfortably held in his embrace.

Epilogue

Ichiji gulped as Satoru stared him down, sizing him up as if he was the most despicable creature on this planet.

Okay, he might be. He was a coward, all he could do was trembling in the face of evil. But he had come in peace, even bringing fruits as an offering! He felt bad too that he was the partial cause for you to be this injured.

He was used to Satoru terrorizing him—calling him names, slapping him, and whatnot—and he could take it. Just this time, he really looked like he could murder him on the spot if he wanted to. A small part of Ichiji mourned that you were his girlfriend, because that pretty much sealed his fate that Gojo Satoru could indeed murder him on the spot because he had a valid enough reason to.

"You are—"

"No! I'm sorry, Gojo-san! I'm sorry for my incompetence!"

"Hah?"

If he was mildly irked before, now Satoru was visibly irritated.

"You're not cut out to be a jujutsu sorcerer," he started. "You're useless. You just get in the way most of the time."

Ichiji kept his head down. No, no. He can't cry!

"Get your driving license or I'll slap the shit out of you."

"Oh?" and before he knew it, Satoru had stalked away, leaving him in the dust. How rude! But...

Get a driver license? Quit the jujutsu work?

Hey, that sounds like something I can do!

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Giant! König Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Creep! König, Perverted! König, König Owns a Cum Jar, Size Difference, Giant! König, Size Kink, Sadistic! König, Abuse of Power, Dub-Con, Cum Soaking, Attempts at Forced Impregnation, Implied Pregnancy, Voyeurism, Hostage Situation, Human Pet! Reader, Physical Violence, Human! Reader, Fem! Reader.

Giant! König captures you after he catches you sneaking around his castle, trying to loot something of value to take back to your impoverished village.

Giant! König immediately jumps at the opportunity to take you as his human pet, throwing you into a nearby jar and closing the lid, observing you like a spider beneath a glass.

Giant! König who, after deciding he wants to keep you long-term instead of turning your body into the sprinkles atop his ice cream, creates a more sustainable living space for you after discovering you’re not as durable as he thought (almost suffocating, dehydrating, and starving to death whilst being held in that damn jar).

Giant! König surprises you with a dollhouse of his own design: a door that locks from the outside, windows too small for you to crawl through, and walls made of a material too strong for your tiny utensils to burrow through.

Giant! König doesn’t take long to start using you for his own pleasure – almost like he has no other outlet; like he was just waiting for this opportunity to come.

Giant! König who, whenever he feels like punishing you, puts you in The Jar and stares you down whilst stroking his cock, gigantic even in comparison to other giants’. He grunts, berating you, telling you how he’d “Fill you with my cock if you weren’t so small – bet I could crush you with it if I wanted to.”

When he’s ready, he cums into the jar – all over you – thick and heavy, almost drowning you with just one spurt of his load.

He loves watching you struggle to keep your head above the viscous pool he’s trapped you in as you literally swim in his semen, looking up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to “Get me out, please!”.

He’ll often leave you in there without clothes to try and teach you a lesson. Until it turns into another reason – to breed you – which you accidentally sparked in him when you told him to be careful! You’ll end up getting me pregnant!

Giant! König can’t get your words out of his head, the primal urges he’s suppressed for so long unearthed by your pleas for him to spare you, if only once.

Giant! König knows he’s way too big to fit inside you, so this –  cumming profusely into a jar he’s encased you in whilst giving you no means of refusing his attempts – is the next best thing.

Giant! König gets off on the sheer size difference between the two of you  – the fact that you’re entirely dependent on him for your survival. Makes him feel like the kind of giant he’s supposed to be; strong and well-seeded.

Giant! König lays awake at night and fantasises about having a family, a far-off dream until you came along. It’s all he can think about as the image of you, his tiny wife, swollen to an almost painful degree as you bear his children, floods his mind, makes his cock twitch – harden. He resists the urge to relieve himself of this burden, preferring to save every ounce of his seed for you rather than wasting even a drop of it.

Giant! König who, despite his…questionable treatment of you, does try to treat you well. He lets you eat as much as you want, both because he knows you come from a poor background and because he has to keep you healthy to bear his offspring — especially since he knows they’ll be quite big compared to you.

Giant! König enjoys questioning you about your life before him, how humans work, what they do all day, whether the stereotypes of them all being lustful, pride-driven,  creatures are true.

If you validate any part of this stereotype, he’ll use that as an excuse to sink you in even more of his cum, to subject you to the task of sitting on his cock (horizontally, might I add) while he commands you to get yourself off by humping the shaft.

Man’s had no outlet for basicall all his life – he’s feral.

Giant! König loves to watch you while you’re tucked up in your dollhouse, observing everything you do. Humans are a rarity in the Giant Lands, so to have one in his home is a mythic occurrence.

Giant! König loves showing you off; he thrives on the reaction he gets when his friends see you. You’re, as stated before, a rarity in their parts, often used as a delicacy rather than a pet since humans aren’t particularly sturdy compared to giants, so managing to keep one alive is something of a status symbol in itself; the mark of a truly capable mate (hence captive humans are often given as courting gifts between giants).

However, König is also highly protective of you – especially after he caught Horangi (another giant he’d been showing you off to) goading you – harassing you – stroking his cock, telling you to “Lick the tip. Never felt a human tongue before.”

Needless to say, König never invited him around again after that.

Giant! König is, obviously, good with his hands and technical know-how. Thus, if his method of soaking you in his semen doesn’t work when trying to knock you up, he’ll create some unlawful contraption to make it inevitable.

Despite his size, König has managed to make a tiny glass syringe that he’s packed with his cum, holding you down easily with one hand as he presses the tip to your entrance, pumping you full of his seed.

He struggles to contain how the scene – the feeling – of you trying desperately to fight him off, to stop him from filling you, makes him feel. You have to watch the bulge between his legs grow as the feeling of being filled past full overcome you.

Giant! König does this as many times as he likes until he knows his seed’s taken, when you start showing. Which, considering how big his offspring will be, is pretty early on.

He definitely makes maternity clothes for you – comfortable garments that show the swell of your stomach as the weeks crawl by into months.

Giant! König loves bathing you, too. Especially after he’s covered you in his cum.

There’s something so intimate and gentle about it – a scarcity in the Giant Lands. Having something so small and fragile in his hands, knowing that he can crush you in his grip at any moment, makes him feel…responsible. Trustworthy.

Giant! König will never let you go, btw. You can try to run as much as you want, but he’ll always catch up to you, his human pet.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 3 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking. ( need to edit this later because I'm exhausted right now)

word count: 3.5k

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If the intruder had made another noise then hadn’t been able to hear it. Not over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Dread washed over you, the blood in your veins turning to ice as you were struck with a sudden realization: 

Either you fought for your life, here and now. . . or you died. 

Your throat locked up, and suddenly you found yourself unable to say anything at all. Shouldn’t you be screaming like a madwoman? Had he seen you undress for the night? Had he been lurking in a corner or a closet as your attendants had run your bath? Was everybody in on this? 

Every nervous smile and antsy movement came rushing back to you. Betrayal slapped you in the face so hard that it stunned you back into motion. 

The knife that you had hidden away in your room after breakfast was shorter than you would have liked- minimal reach, meaning you’d have to get up close to the attacker. Still, you somehow managed to kick the sheets off of you in order to lurch to the side before he was able to brandish his own blade. You heard it cut through the air, the loud tearing of the pillow where your head had just been perched a millisecond ago echoed through the pitch black room. 

You moved towards the door, bare feet against ice cold marble, and finally began to open your mouth to scream for whatever guards were sure to be stationed near the guest quarters. 

“I wouldn’t bother,” The man’s voice sneered, a smile evident in his voice. “No one will save you.” 

There it was. The truth. 

Everyone hated you, but you already knew as much. There was very little you could do in your nightdress- no way you could properly fend off an attacker without any shoes on your feet. Even worse, you had no shield. 

“Why are you doing this?” You questioned, raising the knife so that you were holding it defensively in front of you. You hated how pathetic you sounded with your voice shaking like that. Still, your hands held strong. 

Under immense trauma and stress like this your body had gone into autopilot. Again and again your training has been hammered into you. You must remain calm. Act with surety. 

Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. 

You waited, listening to see if he was getting close to you. The bed creaked, the attacker stepping into a single ray of silver light that had escaped through the blinds.

 It was a guard. 

So this was planned. You should have known enough. You would have thought that Feyd would have been the one to orchestrate the whole thing, but his earlier warning had made it clear to you that he hadn’t wanted you to perish. At least not like this. 

He didn’t say anything else to you before his arm came barrelling down. You stepped to the side, almost tripping over the fabric of your dress in your panic. The cutter blade struck the wall behind you, and in the man’s blind fury he left his side completely defenseless. You surged forward, the knife tightly clutched in your hand, and brought it down hard on his arm. He cried out, the sound nearly deafening you as it echoed off of the empty walls. 

“You bitch!” His weapon clung against the ground. 

Still, his uninjured arm struck against the side of your face. The world tilted beneath you as you stumbled backwards, your spine cracking against the dresser drawer as your knees buckled beneath you. Pain. It felt like he had just drilled a hole clean into the side of your face. No one had ever landed a blow to you like that. The guard took advantage of your stunned state, moving forward so that he could wrap his meaty hands around your throat. 

You needed to use the Voice. He had to stop. . . but his hands were squeezing too tightly. Your lips moved but little more than fearful croaks escaped you. Tears pooled in your eyes at the pressure, at the pain, at the fucking fear that was threatening to swallow you up whole, whole, whole until you were nothing. Your nails scrapped against any bit of skin that you could find. He hissed in pain, using the weight of your own body against you as he slammed you against the dresser where he currently had you pinned. 

You kicked out your legs, desperately trying to find a foothold so that you could wrench yourself upwards. If you were in pants then you might have been able to save yourself, but your bare feet slid out against the loose fabric pooled underneath you. The man had struck when you had been most vulnerable. He was killing you. 

Your eyes widened, the tears finally spilling past the thick wall of your lower lashes. He was killing you. He was killing you. He was killing you. 

With the ringing filling your ears, you hadn’t heard the commotion outside of your door. Only when it slammed open, light from the hall flooding in, did you realize that someone had been alerted. The hands around your throat loosened just enough for you to take a deep, wheezing breath in. 

“Help me.” But you couldn’t reach the correct frequency, not when your vocal cords were so damaged. 

Still, with bleary eyes you stared up at whoever’s large form filled the doorway. Begging them to save you. 

And so they did. 

The world just fell away, like ink on wet paper- it all bled around him. All sound and sight ebbed away, the only thing visible in his rage being your tear filled eyes. Feyd had seen looks of pure terror on the faces of men he had bested countless times before. It never meant much to him. The lives he had taken never weighed heavy on his shoulders. He never cared much for anything aside from his own ambitions. He had goals- found minor joy in sharpening his mind and his blades. 

 He had carried his memories of you from childhood with him into adulthood, each glance and nervous smile acted as a balm that soothed any future traumas or worries. He knew that one day he would be standing exactly where he was right then, with you within arms length. 

This wasn’t what he had pictured throughout the years though. Nothing could have prepared him for what he was currently witnessing. 

Women bled the same as men did. He never felt overly-noble when it came to protecting them, no matter how weak or frail they looked. Feyd understood that it was survival of the fittest. People lost their lives every day in much crueler ways than suffocation. . . 

But the guard had his hands around your throat, and in that moment Feyd no longer saw the proud woman that had managed to nearly knock him off of his feet earlier. No, in that moment you looked just like that six year old little girl he had always cared for so dearly. You looked exactly how he had left you- scared, fragile and innocent. 

Feyd-Rautha wasn’t quite sure what love was, but he could imagine that it must be what he felt for you. Losing you was an impossibility, he’d never let it happen. He couldn’t. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

An eerie sort of calm befell the room, the only sounds being your shaky breaths as you tried to fill your aching lungs with air. The guard didn’t answer him, only stared with fearful eyes up at the Na-Baron. He was looking Death right in the face. 

“Was it your idea to attack her in the middle of the night like this?” Feyd took another step into the room, which had the guard scooting back awkwardly on his knees. “You were going to kill her in the dark like she was no better than an animal.” 

He hadn’t even been brave enough to face you with the lights on. 

Feyd, without turning around, used his foot to close the door behind him. Once again the room plummeted into pitch black darkness. There was a shuffling sound in front of him, the man trying to get to his feet as fast as he could to put some distance between the two of them, but it was too late. Feyd followed the source of the noise and reached out, grabbing the man around the stomach before sinking his blade deep into his neck. A sick wet gurgling noise caused you to let out a small cry. Still, the blue eyed man wouldn’t be offput by your disgust. 

He had to pay for what he did to you. 

And so he dislodged the knife easily, the sharp blade gliding through muscle and skin, and then stabbed again. And again. And again. The guard moaned in pain, trying his hardest to buck and fight Feyd off of him. Even when the man’s legs gave out from under him Feyd followed him, falling to his knees so that he could continue his ruthless assault. 

The Na-Baron grit his teeth, eyes wide as his knife continued to find purchase in the corpse beneath him. The bastard had caused you to suffer. He had hurt you. Feyd didn’t stop there either. He stood up and made his way out into the hallway. 

The rage had made a home somewhere deep in his chest. He didn’t know what to do with so much anger. He needed. . . he needed to make everyone atone for what they had done to you. Did they think that he would approve of their lame assassination attempt? 

“You heard everything and did nothing!” He screamed out at the other guards who stood in the hallway. 

His hands were coated in blood, his black shirt and night pants soaked through, clinging to his skin. All they could do was watch him, unable to say anything at all. Feyd knew that they could not deny his claims. They had all been in on this from the start. 

And so he raised his blade again and did not stop until every man in the hallway was long-dead. 

Not a word had been said since the incident. You didn’t even complain when Feyd had all but dragged you through the halls, rather you followed him as emotionless as a doll. The blood of the fallen marred your arms and crisp white nightdress. It was as if your body had gone into auto pilot. Your mind was lost to you, as you felt as though you were floating off somewhere far away. You no longer existed at all. 

You were just a hollow shell now, in a state of shock that had you shutting down completely. 

Where was he taking you? You didn’t know, nor did you particularly care anymore. 

The guard’s final breaths had sounded wet, probably due to the blood in his lungs. The blade hitting bone. His moans of pain. Those sounds still echoed in your ears, and you were positive that you’d never be able to get them out of your head. 

You’d never witnessed anything like that in all of your life. Someone had been killed mere feet away from you. And yet you weren’t sorry for him. You searched yourself for even an inkling of pity and came up short. The bastard got what he deserved. 

“Why did you have to do that in front of me?” You managed to mumble out. 

Tonight would soon become a memory that would never abandon you. Even in old age you were certain that you would be able to recall every gut wrenching detail of tonights events. When the door leading out to the doorway had opened and illuminated the room, Feyd’s sins had been revealed in full to you. 

The guard was unrecognizable. He no longer looked human to you, his insides turned out. Your betrothed had quite literally gutted your attacker in front of you. 

Your bare feet tracked blood on the floors, the long skirts of your nightgown soaked with another man’s blood. 

“I killed him for you. I wanted you to experience every moment of retribution.” He didn’t turn around to face you as he spoke. Instead he kept his eyes on the hallway, the pupils of his pale blue eyes blown out wide. 

You cast a look down at the hand that was holding your arm in a vice-like grip. He was shaking. It was almost as though he could feel your eyes on his hand. His trembling fingers dug into your soft skin. 

Feyd released you once the two of you were alone in a room together, closing the door behind him and locking it for good measure. You stood there, motionless as you followed the line of his jaw with your eyes. The muscle there ticked a few times as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He was still agitated, you could tell. 

“You’re starting to bruise.” He motioned towards his own neck. 

Your hand flew up to your throat, poking at the tender skin. It felt hot under your touch- sore too. It would serve as a reminder of how close you had come to death. Tonight you felt nothing. . . but what about tomorrow? Would you ever be able to sleep again? 

“How did you know that I was being attacked?” Your suspicion was beginning to build back up again. There were just too many coincidences. 

“You think I had something to do with this?” He sounded agitated. There was no hint of his usual sarcastic lilt in his tone. 

You’d never seen Feyd like this before. He actually seemed. . . offended but your gentle accusation. 

“You can’t answer my question with yet another question. How did you know I was being attacked?” You might have been in a state of immense shock but you still had some wits about you. 

You were locked in a room with a murderer, and the possibility that he had a hand in your assassination attempt was high. Once again you found yourself utterly defenseless. If he tried to attack you now there was no way that you’d be able to defend yourself. Not only that but your throat was wrecked. You could barely talk at the current moment, meaning you couldn’t even depend on the Voice if you needed to. You were as helpless as a child in the wake of Feyd’s power. 

“I see you in my dreams sometimes.” 

Anyone else would have called him insane, but you were used to Paul’s dreams. They’d been getting even more vivid as he aged. So Feyd had a dream that you were in danger? You found it difficult to believe that he would go out of his way to come to your rescue. Still, here he was. 

“Is that why you warned me today at breakfast?” The pieces were finally beginning to fall into place. He’d known something was going to happen since last night. 

“Yes,” He tilted his head, seemingly deep in thought. “Something told me to go and see you.” 

You didn’t have it in yourself to question him further. You’d have to be satisfied with his answers. What you really wanted was a bath and a fresh change of clothes. One last look at your soiled clothes had your nose wrinkling in disgust. The smell of blood was thick in your nose- so strong that the iron scent almost smelled sweet. You gagged outwardly, putting your hands on your knees as you suddenly dry heaved. 

“You realize that he couldn’t be left alive after what he had done, don’t you?” 

Of course you did. That didn’t make it any better though. Your fingers stuck together, caked in blood, as you balled them into fists at your sides. 

“Bath.” Was all you said, already looking around the room that you assumed was his living quarters for any sign of a tub. 

He didn’t make any complaints as you closed the bathroom door behind yourself. Feyd gave you the time to process everything, didn’t knock on the door even once as the minutes ticked by. You stayed in the water until your fingers pruned and rubbed your skin until it was raw. Blood was everywhere. Under your nails, between your toes- it had even soaked through your dress and now caked your lower legs and thighs. 

You threw on a thin cotton robe you found neatly folded on a small towel rack, tying it tightly around your waist before you built up the courage to face your fiance again. 

“Take me back to my room.” You were eager to fall asleep. 

You’d been through too much. The thought of having to be conscious was tiring in itself. If you could close your eyes and sleep for the next ten years then you would. 

You missed your home. You missed your parents and Paul. You missed stability and security. Your life felt lost to you now. 

“This is your room now.” He was laying on the bed, already in a change of clothes. He seemingly took a bath himself while you had locked yourself away. There was no trace of gore left on him now. 

Your mouth went dry, palms pooling with sweat. Surely you were understanding him incorrectly. 

“You can’t expect me to sleep in the same room with you. We aren’t married.” There was absolutely no way your parents would approve of something like this. 

“I don’t trust anyone besides myself with your safety.” 

You didn’t trust anyone. Especially not Feyd. 

“Why should I be expected to sleep with you? I don’t feel comfortable-” 

“I will kill anyone that lays a finger on you again. Let that pile of bodies act as a warning to anyone else that tries. That’s why you should be expected to stay here with me. Get in the bed.” He seemed tired. Aggitated. 

“No.” You held strong. Never in your life had you slept in the same room as a man, let alone someone like Feyd-Rautha. He’d sooner kill you in your sleep then anyone else would. 

“Come here.” His tone caused you to jump. 

You had to bite your tongue as you approached him, sitting down awkwardly on the bed before you finally succumbed to his wishes. The bed was softer than your own, which you immediately envied. The soft mattress enveloped you, and all at once the tiredness you hadn’t felt until then finally sank in. 

You didn’t put up much more of a fight. Your eyes were beginning to close on their own accord. Feyd was watching you, turned on his side so that he could get a better look at you. It was then, for the first time ever, that you fully noted how beautiful he was. Up close like this he was even more striking. Blue eyes, full lips and pale, flawless skin. 

One thing that went unnoticed by you was the fact that Feyd didn’t turn the lights off. 

Without having to ask. . . he didn’t turn the lights off. 

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