#when his own former master is running around like this!!

[coolshadowtwins]

Barbie Princess and the Pauper.

SVSSS.

If you make SY Annalise, and SJ Erika, that fits with their backstories. The princess is the rich kid and the pauper is the former slave. (The image of SJ glaring at SY instead of singing ‘I’m just like you~’ is so funny to me.)

Then that would make LBH Julian, Annalise’s tutor. As I started writing this post, I was going to argue flipping SY and SJ around, because it would make sense for LBH to be King Dominic, but then I actually thought things through.

You have Prince Shen Yuan, who is going to be married to a foreign king to save his kingdom. He doesn’t want to do it. All he wants to do is read his trashy books, and is actually a little in love with his servant LBH, but he will for his people. Duty and all that.

Shen Jiu works in a dress shop in town. They don’t own him, technically. Not in the same way his past masters did. But in every way that matters, really. He owes them a great deal of money, so he can’t leave. And it’s… fine. It’s not the worst job, even if he will be working there forever after his childhood friend tragically abandoned him. But he gets food most days and the ladies (other than the owner) like him. This doesn’t stop him from being a angry, bitter man, of course. He’s still SJ after all lol

They may or may not sing a duet about doing what’s right, in the name of duty.

SY wants to see the city, just one time before he’s trapped in the castle! So LBH takes him downtown, where SY runs into SJ. They may or may not have a musical number about how much they look alike.

Then, like the movie, SY gets kidnapped. I don’t know who Preminger is here. I thought about it, and I can’t decide who to put there. It can’t be LBH’s family, tho, because then why is he there as a servant??? Anyway, SY gets kidnapped, so LBH drags SJ kicking and screaming to the castle to play the Prince while he investigates on the side. They may or may not have a musical number about LBH trying to teach SJ to be a Prince.

But then SJ has to go on a date with SY’s fiancé! And it turns out!!! The foreign king is YQY!!!!

YQY had thought SJ dead. He’s been practically a zombie for years, believing that he had failed SJ, and ruling the kingdom on autopilot. Why is he a king now? Uh, long lost son or something. Anyway, when he sees SJ, pretending to be SY, he freezes up. But then he convinces himself that it can’t be SJ! Because this is SY, obviously, who has very dedicated records keeping tract of the fact that yes, the Prince was indeed the prince his entire life and not a former slave. So he spends this entire date upset that he’s falling in love and betraying/replacing SJ.

On SJ’s part, he’s also upset about how much he likes YQY. He doesn’t recognize YQY as Qi-Ge, of course, but it still feels like he’s replacing him. Also, this isn’t his life. This isn’t his fiancé. Either SY will come back, and marry him and SJ will go back to the dress shop alone. Or SJ will stay the Prince forever, with the knowledge that none of this was every his, and he only got it by stealing another man’s life.

They may or may not sing a romantic duet that hides all the angst they are feeling.

Of course, SJ gets found out rather quickly after that. LBH has been caught and thrown in with SY, leaving no one to stop SJ from going to jail for the disappearance of the Prince. YQY is devastated to hear that SJ would do something like that, but more than that, YQY is elated to hear that this isn’t SY. It’s an unknown SY look alike, and how many of those can there be out there??? This has to be SJ, and now YQY has to help him out of prison.

Then SY and LBH escape, and come save the day, and find precious geodes to save the kingdom, etc etc etc. SY and LBH confess to each other, and live happily ever after, while YQY (after breaking SJ out of prison in a very illegal way) tearfully tells SJ that he is sorry and that he thought he was dead and he couldn’t find him and-

SJ, who just got broken out of prison by the foreign king that he had went on a date with earlier by pretending to be someone else, can only stare as he realizes that this is Qi-Ge.

SJ strings him along for a year until he feels he can accept any apology. And then they get married, because he is not passing up the chance to be a ruler of a country. Who do you think he is??

[stinkythehutt]

😇

[little-star-library]

Headcanons: Playing with Astarion’s Hair

Summary: Just some soft and fluffy headcanons about playing with Astarion’s hair. That man deserves to be coddled and pampered with all of the affection.

At first, Astarion didn’t care for anyone to touch his hair other than himself. After years and years of seducing so many people to lure back to his former master, there were plenty of people who had tangled their fingers through his hair and he developed a feeling of disdain and loathing at the sensation whenever someone got too close, like a hot brand that persisted until he was numb from the pain because none of it was ever real to him. It was all an act that he had to endure. But somehow that wasn’t the case when it came to you. You were different from everyone else. And it was frustrating beyond measure to accept the fact that he began to accept your touch more and more as the two of you grew closer.

It started with small, fleeting brushes of your fingers when you noticed the leaves and small twigs that got caught in his hair after a run in with some goblins. He hesitantly let you pluck out the debris and a twinge of warmth emanated from his undead heart at your gentle ministrations.

From then on, he would purposefully dishevel his snow colored waves and come to you with the excuse of the lack of his own reflection, saying that he only trusted you to fix it because Karlach would surely singe his hair by her own touch and Halsin’s hands were too large and would crumple his hair even more. You knew what he was doing, but secretly you didn’t mind at all.

“There we go, good as new.” You would say this every time with a smile and even though you would love to keep stroking his hair, as soft as it was, you would never cross that boundary unless he expressed his full consent to do so. You knew of his past and empathized with him not being comfortable with non-sexual intimacy because it was a foreign concept to him. He never got to personally experience something so simple and loving as that. And gods help him did he want you to keep going, but never really knew how to ask without embarrassing himself.

Luckily for him though, he didn’t have to wait too long before the opportunity arose. It was after the first time he convinced you to sleep with him and the two of you were laying in the grass under the starry night sky and he was nuzzling against the crook of your neck, trying to catch his breath even if it wasn’t really necessary. You were caressing his shoulders and your hands began to wander up to the curls at the nape of his neck and tentatively pet his hair , but you pulled away briefly so as not to upset him.

“No, don’t stop…please.” His voice came out as a soft whisper and he tightened his grip around your waist like you were going to disappear if he let you go and it made you melt from the inside to see him like this, and you didn’t need to be asked twice. You went back to entangle your fingers through his hair once more and lightly scratched at his scalp and he let out a hum as a silent ‘thank you’ and practically started purring when you kissed the crown of his head. The world around you began to blur until it was just you and him and there was nothing else that mattered other than this moment, and he silently pleaded for the sun to never rise so he could bask in your embrace just a little longer.

And after that night, he was hooked. Every night he would actively search you out and you would never turn him away. By now it was a common occurrence to spend the night in the privacy of your tent in comfortable silence by each other’s side while the rest of your traveling companions were asleep, usually with him reading a book and you playing with his hair as he rested his head in your lap.

One of his favorite pastimes however was when you would offer to wash his hair. You always thought he looked ruggedly handsome and carnal when he was in his element. You know it’s kind of off-putting to be attracted to something like that, but the sight of him when he had blood splattered across his cheeks and twisted into crimson ribbons throughout his hair was downright breathtaking. But you knew from your own experiences in battle that after a while, the blood cools and congeals into a sticky, wet mess on your skin and it was awfully discomforting after walking under the hot sun all day. Although Astarion would rather prefer an actual proper bath compared to scrubbing down in a freezing lake, he still insisted on using these special soaps and pomades which he may have acquired not so honorably stating that he wouldn’t be caught red-handed walking around smelling like ‘orthon roadkill’

He would give you detailed instructions on which products to use as you went and you dutifully complied just to see his expression turn to one of instant contentment as you scrubbed gently at his scalp to work the soap through the strands until the blood washed away and he was slowly oozing into a puddle of relaxation, almost slipping away into a short trance to rest his weary body. He would gladly return the favor in kind, making sure to wipe every patch of dirt and grime away until you were clean, his dexterous fingers feeling like an absolute godsend as they nimbly stroked thoroughly in your hair and he would smirk with pride when he had you moaning so sweetly just with his delicate touch.

He always enjoyed these small acts of intimacy that you shared with him and you helped show him a side of affection that was completely different from what he knew. There were no strings attached, no obligations he had to fulfill because there was no need for that. You were just expressing your care for him and you didn’t need to be repaid, always insisting on doting on him with your kindness and that made him nervous. He thought that after years of torment he would never actually catch a break or deserve any sort of reprieve after all of the awful things he went through, but you were his saving grace, the light at the end of the dark tunnel of his lonely existence. But as long as you were there, holding him in your arms and indulging him with your soothing touch, he felt like he could get used to this.

“You are worth so much more than you think, Astarion. I know it’s hard to see that, but I am willing to do whatever it takes to show you that.” Your hushed words struck him to his core and he desperately tried to contain the tears welling in his eyes from falling, pulling you closer to him as you both laid in your bedroll and left a chaste kiss on your lips in reverent gratitude. Although you two had only known each other for a short time now, you had already fallen for him and vice versa. There was no need to come to terms with your relationship until he was ready and if playing with his hair had been the beginning of your virtuous tenderness towards him, then he could not wait to see what else you had in store.

[munsonbrackets]

Astarion x undying male reader (2)

I rewrote it! I like this one more than the other one, hopefully you all enjoy ver. 2 as well!

TW: angst, graphic(ish) depitctions, SPOILERS FOR ASTARION'S STORY

You and Astarion walk down the steps. The steps that are gonna decide the fate of him forevermore. 

Who lives, who dies.

At the end of the stairs, Cazador starts his speech. The rehearsed words fall into crumbling deafening sentences, leaving you silent as Astarion speaks up for himself.

“You son of a bitch.” Astarion sneers and leaps towards starting the fight against his former master himself. You do not manage to grab him.

Before anyone can even register what’s happened, Astarion is sent to his spot. His spot, his place in the ritual, it glows and shimmers as if to mock and disturb you. Which it does.

Cazador stares at you, the contained rage flittering across his expression. Next thing you feel is his closeness to yourself, the heat running from your throat. His claws had dug and slashed and you feel the burning, red hot, blood draws down and in, suffocating and heating and dizzying. You fall to the floor, the liquid leaving you, leaves you feeling restless, but so fucking tired.

The rest of your party startle in for the fight ahead as you lay useless, suffocating on your own blood. The next thing you see is your own blood forming around you, your eyes blacking out. It never stops hurting.

And as you wake, your companions are struggling, fighting against the plentyfull of foes that you so cruelly left them fighting alone. 

Your hand pushes your head off the floor first, no one has yet to notice the sudden life stuttering its way through your body. But the desperation never leaves your head. How long?! You scream, but no words leave you. Your mouth dry and parched, the words catching on the cut that is struck across your throat.

As you look up you realize that Cazador is at his last step. The last part, a mere handful of seconds left. You push yourself off the ground, your legs carry you faster than your newly living lungs can keep up with, but you catch him.

You catch Cazador as you leap towards the edge, a bone crushing grip settled around his ribs. You drag him to whatever pit of hell awaits under his sick idea of a ritualistic battleground that he had built to ascend.

To become great.

To take away Astarion.

The descent towards the floor of the pit goes by in seconds, but Cazador is scratching and pushing, biting and attempting to flee. You will not let him. Your keen ears hear his body connect with the ground a mere millisecond before yours does. A mere fraction of a moment, that you use to hope. Hope that this stopped the ritual, that Astarion is safe.

And once more everything is black.

You cannot help but wonder if they tried to pay Withers. To bring you back. What he said, what they discussed, would they try to get your body? Put themselves on the line for your unanimated corpse?

You were perhaps nothing more than a splotch on the ground, but you still thought. You were thinking. You are thinking.

Your eyes open with the same voracity as the breath you take in. No longer a splotch, no longer a pile of mess. You were in your own body again. In your own body, with heat. Heat pouring from your beating heart, pumping the blood and startling your limbs to reset. Your tears start and you sob. You wretch every gasp of air through your body as you lay at the bottom of a seemingly endless pit.

And as your brittle bones register the muscles surrounding them, they realize they are not so brittle after all. They are living. Moving, constricting, cramping, releasing. They tense as you push yourself to sit up.

Seemingly endless vastness peers down at you from the great beyond that you see when you look up. Climb, no think, just climb, no look around. Your head and heart scream, striking your ears with a piercing pitch. 

You look around first, no one just makes a ditch. It has to have a purpose. Your aching legs agree to push you up, the all too familiar burn spreading through your body. The burn that you have labeled ‘The experience of one more life’, the feeling of living. Again.

You trudge insecurely across the unstable floor that you cannot see in the complete darkness. Your eyes only adjust enough to see your own nose, you’ve learnt that your eyes wake up last, probably due to the separate immune system awakening to the…situation?

You put your hands up, stumbling into a wall, following it, finding an arch. A doorway, probably. And stairs. Stairs. Inside the doorway. You crawl up, making sure that one hand follows the edge, your other leads you. Slowly. 

As you get nearer to the top, your body no longer burns from life, but from exhaustion. Step by step, you near the dim light of the ritualistic battlefield that you fell from. Dead silence.

Your heart once more burns as you realize that you left your companions to fight, you forced a hand that Cazador couldn’t have dealt. You never even felt what should have been Cazador’s splotch on the ground that you awoke on, nothing sticky, icky or gooey. The light finally shows you your hands, which are covered in nothing but dust and dirt of some kind.

The far top reveals that you just climbed a tower, the bridge that would have led directly to Cazador’s ritual is completely broken. But your companions might need help, they might not have lived like you always seemed to. They might need you to pay Withers. Bring them back. Your legs brace themselves for the jump towards the center. You should have jumped further, you realize, as your chest collides with jutted bricks, your breath cascaded out as your nails dig into any crevice they can get hold of. A single slip and you start over. 

You refuse. You clamber up the edge, sitting right behind what would have been Astarion’s circle. No ashes, no bones, he must be alright. A quick glance tells you that no bones here are mildly human. You push your legs forward once more, stand up. Walk over past Cazador’s empty tomb, his distraught body slowly succumbing to the laws of nature. But not gone.

You stomp over his skull, then you pause, then you repeat. Again and again and again, the heat of rage spreads through you. Fuck this place, fuck Cazador, fuck this ritual. 

Your head thumps as you look towards the stairs leading up, leading out. The steps are tenfold worse than from the tower, the adrenaline gone, the rush faded, even the anger disappeared as quickly as it entered. 

The top of the stairs is adorned by voices, whispers almost. Then only the silence broken by your tired steps on the staircase. You practically drag your body the rest of the way. Another doorway, leading to…people.

People with swords pointed at you, bows drawn, daggers at the ready. The monster hunters stand ready, their weapons drawn. The center of them, just in front of the elevator that leads out. Astarion. Beautiful, kind, Astarion.

Astarion who pushes past the hunters in front of him, Astarion who runs to you, Astarion who leaps into your arms. Your legs barely brace for his body's impact, before they give in and the two of you collapse onto your knees, the hard floor doing nothing for the pain that shoots through your body.

Gorgeous Astarion who sobs into your embrace as you hold him. The tears stream down your own cheeks, the command for everyone to stand down is given. Astarion pulls away, peels himself away from you. The lack of him makes you feel cold.

“You-” Astarion sneers, “I saw you! What did y-”

He doesn’t manage to finish his sentence as the tears cascade over his angry expression and he sends a flurry of weak punches into you. A sob wracks through his body.

“Cazador knew you! You know he knew you.”

You realize Astarion’s eyes are not filled with anger directed at you, but himself. He remembers you. He remembers handing you to Cazador.

“I forgive you, Astarion. I would throw myself off an edge to save you a million times over.” You mutter back, your hands finding the sides of his face. You bring his face to yours, plant a sweet kiss on him. You pull away and plant Astarion’s forehead against you. His hands hold yours, still on his face.

“You’re that invulnerable boy. I’m so sorry.” Astarion mutters through more gasps and sobs.

“I forgive you, I forgave you a long time ago, before ever meeting you again. You’re my everything, Astarion. I wouldn’t change a thing about the past if it meant I would never meet you again.” You tumble out, the saltiness of your tears entering your mouth as your words stumble. 

You fall into each other's embrace again, a silent promise. Truth goes both ways. But not now. Now is reserved for this.

[gingernut1314]

The Hunter and the Hunted

Buggy x F!Reader

Summary: Buggy the clown annoys you. More than annoys you. It's been that way ever since you were both little and as a bounty hunter, it made all the sense in the world to dislike him. When you are captured by the Marines for crimes you had been trying to outrun for years, you find him locked up right alongside you and just as annoying as ever. But when the chance for escape presents itself, it comes with strings attached. Strings that test the very natural order between the hunter and the hunted--an order Buggy seems to have no regard for.

Topics: angst, smut (p in v), canon typical violence, enemies to lovers

Word Count: 5.3K

Commissioned by: @katelynwithpaint (Thank you for commissioning me, it was so much fun to write! ❤️ ❤️)

↞ to Buggy the Clown Masterlist | One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

You were thrown into the dank brig of a marine vessel, the force of the action enough to send you falling to the ground, your bound hands barking in pain as you tried to keep yourself upright. 

The two marines who had been commanded to bring you down here spat filthy insults your way. Insults you should have brushed off and forgotten about, but you have never been good at taking such things. Had always let them get under your skin--get you angry and upset. 

Snapping your head around, teeth bared in a nasty snarl, you watched the door slam shut behind you.

“You fucking spoon-fed idiots!” You hissed up at the two marines who had been ready to leave before you had spoken. “You know nothing of--” The taller one slammed his fist against the bars of your prison, causing a loud bang to ring through the metal walls. 

You hardly flinched. Hardly bat an eye. You’d dealt with some of the most terrifying big bads the East Blue had to offer. Big bads who thrived off chaos and ate babies for breakfast. These two goody-two-shoes marines would never in their wildest dreams live up to those creatures. Never utterly terrify you. 

“We know everything about you. We know of your failed run as a bounty hunter. We know you killed a respected and loved member of our community--you are a criminal. Nothing but a no-good pirate.” He shot down at you in an air of superiority. Like you were nothing but the dirt under his shoes. 

A criminal. A no-good pirate. Those few words were worse than any insult one could possibly conjure and spit at you. Worse than physically getting slapped in the face. 

You were by no means a good person, but a criminal--you were far from being a criminal. Not in the same sense as those you’d hunted down. Those who had done true evil in this world. Who had hurt innocent people--children. 

Criminals like their respected and loved community members. A, now-dead, marine commodore. A commodore who had gone too far in life without getting punished for his crimes. 

Crimes you punished him for. 

A crackling laugh filled the air before you could spit any sort of slights their way. A laugh that started off low, like a chuckling at oneself, but gradually grew into a wicked, bellowing thing. 

It was a laugh you were all too familiar with. One you had first heard as a fresh, new bounty hunter following your former master on her journey to take down Silvers Rayleigh, fearsome first mate of the soon-to-be King of the Pirates. 

Your master had been killed not long into the fight, but you had been too busy fighting off a red-nosed boy around your age to notice. You two had beaten the absolute shit out of each other, and would have continued till only one of you left victorious, but Rayleigh had stepped in, stopping you two before that could happen. He had spared you, despite your hot-headed vows of revenge.

You had thought all too much about that red-nosed boy as you continued across the East Blue. Thought about how he had been just as passionate and confident in his mentor’s skills--in his own skills--as you were. How he had been just as reckless and rash as you.

It wasn’t for another five years before you saw him again, still sailing around with your master’s killer, though you had given up on that revenge long before then. 

You had at this point in time found three other like-minded bounty hunters whom you joined up with. Hunters who had been tracking down a pirate unrelated to the boy you had battled with, though who just so happened to be celebrating some sort of victory on the same island. 

You two almost went head to head once more, had it not been for his calm and collected red-headed friend. A friend who had scared the shit out of you, despite his cool nature, so your fight ended swiftly and you left. 

More years passed and the more you ran into the clown. Each time you two found some way to fight--whether it be physical or verbal. A few times that red-headed friend was with him to help break it up, and other times you both were thrown out of whatever bar you had been in. 

You ran into him once more in some backwater bar, sitting alone and nursing a large pint of beer. He smirked your way when he spotted you and, to your surprise, bought you a drink. A drink you took reluctantly, waiting for the moment you would have to defend yourself against him. But instead, he merely talked to you. Told you how his captain had dissolved his crew, leaving him adrift. 

And there was hurt in his eyes. A sense of abandonment that had you carefully telling him of what had been happening in your own shit-filled life. Of a marine whose name you had just recently crossed off your list. How you had finally gotten him after years--gotten revenge for the lives he had taken from you in your youth. 

He’d laughed in something kin to understanding, insisting on buying you another drink to which you declined and went on your way. 

The last time you came across that laugh, you had just been left for dead by your so-called comrades--friends. Left to be found by the very marines you had crossed when you stumbled into a seemingly deserted town. A town you quickly found was overrun with freakish pirates. Freakish pirates who had managed to kidnap you in your weakened state and drag you into an equally freakish circus tent. 

The boy had grown up, just as you had. Had grown up to be captain of this band of freaks. One who had chained the poor people of that town up and used them for his own, sick entertainment. 

But when you saw him, that laugh sounding in your ears, you were reminded of just how much you thought of it. How many of your dreams had been haunted by it’s ring. Of how you, for whatever reason, held a sick sense of respect for him. And his eyes--they were all too bright looking upon you. All too seeing. 

After dramatically introducing you to his crew and captives, he had you dragged off into a back room where you were once more surprised when his freaks cleaned your wounds and gave you some water to drink. 

It was all very strange. It went against the very natural order of the world. The order between the hunter and the hunted. 

It had freaked you out all so much, you escaped before you had to face that haunting laugh and its owner. 

But here it was again, spilling from the red-painted lips of Buggy the clown, captain of the Buggy pirates, locked away in this all too wet marine brig pulling haunting ghosts from your past into the forefront of your mind. 

You kept your eyes trained on the two marines before you, watching them like a hawk. Watching for a slip-up. Something--anything that would help you in this situation. Something that would keep your eyes off the crazed clown and his grating laugh.

“If she’s a pirate, then that would make me one you shithead.” His gruff voice joked. The two marines shared a look between them. One that almost looked to have uneasy undertones to it. 

“You have no right interfering in marine business.” The second shot towards the cell just next to yours, only resulting in more insane laughter filling the air. The first marine just shook his head in growing annoyance. 

“Come on. He’s all locked up. That big-nosed freak can’t do a thing.” The laughter cut off sharply. 

“What did you just as say?” Buggy asked, his tone becoming all that much more serious. That more threatening--dangerous. The Marines bore shit-eating grins, obviously finding his growing pissed-off nature amusing. 

“You know, I never liked clowns. Freaky little fuckers.” The first said as they began heading for the exit once more. 

“This freaky little fucker is going to cut your nose off and force you to eat it when I get out of here.” This only seemed to tickle the marines further and they left without so much as another word. 

The brig was dead as a tomb for a moment you used to look about the confines of your cell, trying to find any weaknesses or things to make a makeshift weapon with so that you could escape sooner rather than later. Buggy gave an exasperated huffing sigh as your eyes locked onto something in the corner, just by the horrible-looking toilet. 

“Yeesh. Some people just don’t know how to have fun.” You all but ignored him, messing with the bit of scrap metal that had been idioticly left unfixed. “Whatcha got there, peach?” He said, using the nickname he had given you after you threw a peach you had mistaken for a rock at him when you had seen him that second time. He had used it ever since then and it’s continued to annoy you.

“Don’t call me that.” You snapped, finally yanking the bit of metal from its last hold on the base of the toilet. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. 

“That’s no fun.” 

“Since when have you ever thought of me and fun at the same time?” You huffed, working on trying to unlock the cuffs that had been slapped around your wrists. It took you a minute to even get the bit of metal into the small keyhole, and with your hands locked together as they were, you hardly saw yourself free any time soon. 

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. I think you’re plenty fun. I think you do a fantastically fun job playing pirate bounty hunter.” You again ignored him. Tried not to even hear his all-too-chipper voice as you continued to work. “Playing pirate bounty hunter when you can’t even sail a ship. I think it shows your commitment to the part.” 

You finally snapped around to shoot a daggered glare Buggy’s way, whose usual red-painted lips were pulled up in a wide smile. He knelt before the bars separating the two cells, gloved hands clasped together before him. His clown-styled makeup was smudged in a way that told you he must have been here for a few days. You also noted the absence of his hat, which bore his insignia in the center, leaving him in his red and white striped bandana. 

You couldn’t help the small part of you that wished he was wearing it--the small part that thought it suited him all too well. A small part of you that you shoved down deep. 

Seeing him again after god knows how long was always--staggering. It brought back up such ugly feelings of hatred and utter sadness you’d felt after your master's death. Brought back up how surprised you’d been when he offered you a drink. Brought back up that equally as ugly feeling of respect and misplaced understanding. 

Buggy was an actor--a performer. Of course he would play the part he needed to get you to let your guard down--to not beat him into a pulp. 

It was all so aggravating. 

“It’s not some part.” Buggy rolled his eyes in a dramatic fashion that only made your frustration coil tighter in your chest. “And I can sail a ship.” Buggy let out a sharp mocking laugh. 

“I seem to remember my freaks telling me of the struggle you had trying to leave that small island I found you on.” 

“I had lost a lot of blood.” You said as if you needed to give him any sort of explanation. As if you needed to keep talking to him. Turning away from this intense green-blue gaze, you went back to work on the cuffs. 

“You know, I was rather upset you left without saying goodbye,” Buggy said in fake hurt. “You didn’t even get to see my grand finale.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.” You said in equally mocking tones. 

“I accept your--”

“Fuck off, Buggy. I should have beat your ass while I had the chance. I should have killed you and freed those poor people you terrorized.” Buggy pulled a smirk to his lips. 

“Beat my ass? I seem to remember it was me who kicked your ass last time.” A scoffing huff spilled from your lips. 

“We were ten years old--” 

“Ten in a half.” Buggy quickly corrected like it truly mattered. You shot him a look that said as much. 

“It doesn’t matter. I had no skill back then. No discipline. I would kill you now without ever batting an eye.” That smirk never once left Buggy’s lips, his eyes shining in utter amusement. Eyes that had your gut doing annoying and tiresome little twists. 

“And collect what bounty? Our cheery new friends seem to think you’re nothing but a “no-good pirate” now.” Despite that shot of anger that flared in your chest, you pulled on your own smirking smile. 

“It wouldn’t be for any bounty. It would be for my own amusement.” 

“Peach, if you're trying to flirt with me, it's working.” He all but purred your way. You rolled your eyes and truly went back to unlocking your cuffs. 

No more distractions. No more annoying banter with that clown pirate who grated on your nerves like no other. You couldn’t get caught. Not yet. Not before you got revenge for yourself. Revenge against those who had turned the world against you. “Peach--”

“You truly are horrible.” You snapped, unable to ignore the obvious rise Buggy was trying and successfully getting out of you.

“When I escape and free you,” Buggy started, only for you to cut him off with a scoff.

“You’re delusional.” Buggy rolled his eyes dramatically. 

“When I escape and free you, you’ll have to repay me.” 

“You aren’t freeing me. I can do that just fine on my own.” You snapped.

“Oh, I think I will.” You shot him a glare hoping he would shut up. He, of course, did no such thing. “And after I get us off this ship, I’m thinking you’ll be so overrun with emotion you’ll do something sweet for me.” You shook your head, shoving the bit of metal this way and that within the keyhole. 

“I don’t find your games amusing. I actually find them quite boring.” 

“Now you’re just being mean.” The sudden sound of rusting metal squeaking open pulled your attention away from your work and back onto Buggy. Your jaw all but fell open upon seeing Buggy sauntering out of his cell, his hand popping back onto his wrist, a ring of keys laying there. 

You had watched those Marines. Hadn’t missed a single twitch or breath, so how had you missed Buggy grabbing those keys from around the holder's waist? How had you missed a flying, dismembered hand?

“How--” You watched him unlock your cell door in utter disbelief. Watched as he took the few steps across the way so he was standing in front of you. Watched with a fluttering, tingling belly as he knelt before you, that all too charming smile on his lips. You covered your strange feelings with that of familiar annoyance for him. 

“Peach, I’m gonna let you out, but,” He said, sing-songingly elongating the last word. “I want you on my crew.” That was the last thing you thought you would hear from his lips. It was enough of a shock to squash any and all irritation you held in your chest for the clown.

You two had no like for the other. Every time you saw each other, it was either a fight or a backward attempt to mock and tease the other. You were the hunter and he was the hunted. Why would he ever want you to be near him in such a way? 

You laughed in his face. Laughed wholeheartedly in your unbelieving at his words. Laughed so hard it shook your shoulders. 

“You’re full of it. I despise pirates. I kill your kind for a living.” You snapped at him once you’re laughter subsided. 

“Past living.” You’re disbelief quickly turns back into that of anger. “And you’re perfect.” His words caught you off guard once more. Had you all but freezing up, unable to conquer up your anger.

Perfect. No one had ever uttered such a thing to you. 

It was…strange. You and him--it was all too strange. 

“I collect outcasts, those thrown away by society. Those hurt and betrayed and left to die, bleeding out on some hopeless island.” You felt your eyes suddenly prick in the remainder of your inner wounds. Wounds created by those you had thought were your friends--family. Those who you had loved more than you had ever loved anything in this world. 

Buggy saw all of this with those intent green-blue eyes. He saw this and he understood, despite your many differences. Because he had experienced it too. Had been hurt and left to rot by those he had cared about. 

“My freaks--my crew--don’t turn their backs as easily. I don’t turn my back that easily.” 

An actor--a performer. That’s all he was--all he ever would be…but damn if he wasn’t speaking to your soul. Wasn’t utterly pulling you into those green-blue eyes and that charming smile of his. 

“I--” You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do. You should tell him to fuck off. That you would rather stay here and let the Marines drag you off to some prison to be forgotten in. But…but you didn’t say that. Your traitorous heart didn’t let you. “I am no pirate.” You all but whispered. It was a confession rather than a biting hiss.

Buggy smiled, his gloved hand coming up to grab hold of your chin in a grip that was just tight enough to keep you from looking away from him. It was all too much. It felt all too--too right, having the roles switched. Being the frightened sparrow and he the smiling chester cat, ready to snap your neck between his sharp, smiling jaws. 

“Oh, I know.” He whispered back as if it was a secret. “But I think you’ll like it. I think your cage door needs to be unlocked so you can fly free.” Before you could even open your mouth to try and pull together a rambling stream of words, the marine ship shook violently, the sound of cannon fire echoing down into the brig. That wickedly charming smile pulled onto Buggy’s lips. “Right on time.” He pulled his hand from your chin, the absence of his warmth leaving you annoyingly wishing for it back--wishing for more. 

What a strange, strange predicament you were in. What strange, strange emotions. It was all too confusing. Too much.

Buggy dangled the keys in front of your face as the ship was attacked once more. “How about you think on it while I take care of this, peach.” He said, dropping the keys into your lap before standing to his full, towering height. “Though, don’t strain that pretty little head of yours too much.” And with that Buggy left the cold, dank brig. 

You wasted no more time than you had, quickly unlocking the cuffs, which had been rubbing painfully against your skin, and heading in the direction Buggy had disappeared in. 

The next few moments went by in a flash. You getting to the deck and finding Buggy’s freaks had boarded and were mowing down marine after marine, leaving no survivors in their wake. Buggy laughing insanely as he fulfilled the threat he had shot their captor's way. You finding where they had stored your weapons, as well as Buggy’s hat. You killing anyone who got in your way as you found yourself heading for the edge of the ship--found your body had a mind of its own as you jumped, landing on the deck of the circus-themed ship Buggy commanded. 

This was your best and only escape route, you told yourself as you rushed around the ship, trying to find a place you could keep away from the rest of the world so you wouldn’t be found out. That place ended up being the large tent near the back of the ship, washed in shadow and thankfully empty. 

You passed the time by looking around the large area, finding it was very similar to that of the tent Buggy had set up on land all those years ago. 

Finding a pair of stairs, you winded up them, finding a singular chair sitting in the center of the raised platform. A throne, you realized. Buggy’s throne. You traced your fingers over the designs engraved in the wooden seat before sitting down, finding it would be the best place to wait out the fighting and think about your strange predicament. 

“That's my seat.” Buggy’s gruffing voice sounded in your ear a little less than an hour later. It didn’t startle you, his sudden appearance. You had marked his footfalls when he thought he had been sneaking into the tent to do just that. 

“Take it. It’s uncomfortable.” You murmured, pulling yourself from the throne which was, despite your words, rather comfortable. Buggy was much closer than you had originally thought, so close you had to tilt your head up just the slightest bit to look into those green-blue eyes of his. Eyes that never once moved away from your face as he flopped down on his throne, legs spread in some show of dominance. 

“So, tell me peach, what is your answer?” You moved your eyes away from Buggy’s intense stare, looking over his hat which you had taken with you off that marine ship. 

“Why free me?” You questioned, glancing back towards the pirate, whose eyes never seemed to have lifted from your form. 

“Because I’ve been looking for someone to fill the role of knife thrower in my performance. You are good with a blade.” It was a lie. You could tell it was a lie. And it ate at you despite your utter dislike for this pirate. You took a step closer, those green-blue eyes watching your movements. 

“That I am…but tell me something; what makes a pirate buy a drink for a bounty hunter?” You took another, calculated step that the clown marked. He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

“Why not? Getting you drunk seemed like a fun idea at the time.” He cracked a mischievous smile. “Still does.” You gave a small nod, pausing just before him. “You’re dancing around my question, peach. Maybe that's what I should make you.” 

You leaned forward the slightest bit, his knees brushing against your legs, being as close to him as you were. 

“You let me out of my chains. You dressed my wounds when you could have let me bleed out, and for those things, I owe you my life.” Buggy gave a small nod of his own.

“I feel a but coming.” 

“But I can’t be free yet. Not when those who betrayed me are still breathing.” That smile of his stayed in place, but a seriousness you had never seen before filtered into his eyes. A seriousness that spoke of understanding. Of respect. 

Strange--this was all so strange, things between you and him. Between hunter and the hunted. 

“And then?” He questioned. You moved ever closer, you’re legs fitting between his in a strange sort of puzzle. Buggy watched and allowed you to gently tug his hat back onto his head, his breath tickling your lips.

You thought of the way his hand on your chin felt. How it had all but drove you crazy. How you had wished, no matter how absurd, to have it back there--to have more. 

“Tell me why you saved me.” You spoke softly so that Buggy and Buggy alone could hear. “Why do you want me on your crew? Why, when you should have killed me--when you’ve wanted to kill me ever since we were young?” Buggy’s eyes fluttered down to your lips as they moved. A small action that had that buzzing in your body stirring alive once more. 

“I think you know.” He spoke just as softly in that gruffing voice of his. A voice that had been bouncing around in your brain for longer than you liked to admit. 

“I don’t think I do.” Buggy’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit like he was annoyed at your comment. An annoyance you wanted to drag out of him. You knew he didn’t want to admit it. Knew that he probably had never had to explain himself before. “Because I am still under the impression that I am the hunter ready to collect that sizable bounty on your head.” 

“You think my bounty is sizable?” He smirked, continuing to dance around the topic. 

“Enough to get me a ship that floats and an expensive bottle of wine.” You said in an attempt to get under his skin. You saw that flash of irritation in his eyes that made your own smirk pull to your lips. 

“A ship you couldn’t even sail?” He teased, moving closer so that his lips were mere inches away from your own.

Your mind raced to wonder what they might feel like fitted against yours. How it might feel to have his hands running over your skin--to feel his skin. 

It was all too strange, the things he was able to pull from you. Such strange feelings. 

“You annoy me.” You jabbed his way, your eyes fluttered every so often to those red-painted lips of his. 

If you kissed him, would your lips come away just as red?

“You’re eyes annoy me, your laugh, your voice.” Buggy looked as if he was trying to figure out if your words were supposed to be meant as an insult or some backwards complaint. You wondered this as well. 

“And it annoys me that you understand. Say you understand.” You found yourself saying in a biting manner. The pirate looked over your face, seeming unsure of what to do next. Unsure of what to say even when you had just spelled it out for him. 

His hand reached out and took hold of your chin in his solid grip. A grip that sent your stomach fluttering uncontrollably. “I understand.” Was all he said before he was pulling your lips flush against his own. 

You hardly had control of yourself as you kissed him back in a frenzy, all sense of self-control and reason flying out the window. A kiss fueled by your strange, strange feelings for this clown. Feelings a mix of dislike, annoyance, understanding, and respect. Feelings you’d been harboring deep within yourself for a long, long time. 

His kiss burned through you, had your hands grabbing at his jacket and all but ripping it from his body, feeling over his strong, exposed arms. His skin was warm and felt so nice against your own. Skin you wished to feel covering your whole body. 

Buggy hands moved along your body, pulling you closer. His touch sent your skin on fire. A fire that hat engulfed your entire being, demanding to be satisfied. 

Your hands moved downward, over his equally strong chest and abdomen until they found the edge of his pants, your fingers fumbling to undo his buttons. Buggy mimicked your actions, finding and unfastening the buttons there. 

You pulled away from Buggy long enough to hasten along the process of shoving your pants over and off your legs. A process you had hardly finished before Buggy was grabbing you up once more, claiming your lips in a hot, needy kiss. A kiss that felt more like a fight for dominance. A fight the two of you never could seem to truly finish. 

Buggy’s hands took fist fulls of your ass, guiding you up and onto the throne with him, your knees straddling either side of him. Reaching down between the two of you, your hand disappeared into Buggy’s pants, taking hold of is hardened cock and giving it a few good, teasing pumps. He gave a throaty groan that had that heat shoot through your core, making your pussy throb in just as much need as the rest of your body. 

As quickly as you could, you pulled his cock free from the confines of his pants, hardly waiting before you were descending downward, a sweet little moan spilling from your lips. 

Fuck it was good. It felt so good being connected this way. In a way that was slowly filling that yawning need within you. A need you had been holding at bay for a long time. 

“F-fuck, peach.” Buggy moaned into your mouth, his hands moving to hold onto your hips in a near steel-like grip. A grip that guided you further down so that you were fully seated on top of him. “So fucking good.” 

You moaned your own pleasure as you began to move up and down, slowly at first so that you might feel every last inch he had to offer. A pace that gradually quickened, finding that need within you all but commanding you to do so. Grabbing hold of one of Buggy’s hands, you guided his gloved fingers to find that small bundle of nerves that all but begged for his attention. Silently told him just how you liked it to be touched and, surprisingly, he was a quick learner. 

It was good. Almost too good. Never would you have imagined this happening--you fucking this vastly annoying clown. The very clown you’d fought for years. But then again, this was just another sort of fight. A fight for dominance and submission. A fight you much rather preferred over that of brute force and stabbing words. 

Buggy’s lips left yours only to latch onto the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting in a way that drove you crazy. That sent you quickly spiraling closer and closer over the edge. 

“Oh god--Buggy, I’m--I’m…” His fingers kept circling your clit, bringing you all that much closer to your finish. 

“Come for me, peach. F-fuck--you’re such a sweet little thing.” You moved your face so that you could press your lips against his once more, moan after moan vibrating through your throat. 

So much--too much. It was all so good you’re legs began to turn to jelly. Began to give out under your own weight. Buggy seemed to understand this and pulled away from your clit only so he could grab you up in his strong arms. Arms that held you up as he fuck into you mercilessly.

You spiraled up and up and up until your pussy was clutching around his cock and pure bliss was shooting through you. Buggy’s name flew from your lips as you held onto him for dear life. The pirate gave a few last, grunting thrusts before he was spilling into you. 

Buggy buried his face in your chest, his chest heaving up and down just as your own, both of you fighting to take in the thick air around you. 

The tent was filled with nothing but the sound of your mixing breaths for a long moment. A moment you took the time to run your hands over any and all exposed skin Buggy had to offer. Warm skin that brought you such strange, strange comfort. 

“And then?” Buggy asked, taking you by surprise. It was the same question he had asked you only moments ago. A question of what you would do after you had avenged yourself. You pressed your cheek against the side of his head, your lips brushing over his right ear. 

“Then I will return,” You breathed, feeling Buggy’s body go just that much more still against yours. “And I will be free.”

[notjustjavierpena]

Him

A/N: Part 3 of Mean!Joel coming straight to ya. This is a big mishmash of emotions, I’m sorry, but something has to lead to part 4.

Summary: You find a dress during a supplies run but Joel doesn’t give a shit about you looking nice for him.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), dub-con and mentions of non-con, dirty talk, painful and rough PIV sex, unprotected sex, creampie, choking, fingering, pussy slapping

Word count: 4.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48179338/chapters/121494847

Him

There’s the distinct smell of mold and old basement in the abandoned apartment complex. Joel has told you to stay close to him, but as soon as he tells you that the place is clear, you wander off and he grumbles something about it being your funeral. 

“Only what’s necessary,” he had said on the way up the stairs, still clutching onto his rifle as if something could come out of the shadows any second despite your thorough investigation of the place.

You go through each room of your selected condo, but there is nothing interesting to be found. There had been a convenience store last week which had been picked over except for a few toothbrushes. You had given the toothbrushes to a couple of the kids back at Jackson, but still been bummed that you have yet to find something that you can take home just for yourself. Last month, some of the other women had found a box of old 2000s clothes and you had been disappointed at not having been there with them as they chose whatever they wanted. You are still empty-handed. 

That is, until now. 

In the master bedroom, you go through the clothes that whoever used to live here has left behind. It isn’t a particularly thrilling closet, but you think it almost feels like shopping as you push the hangers to the side along the metal bar one by one. Everything has been eaten by moths.

“Find anything?” Joel pops his head through the door, walks closer a second after to see what you are doing. He rolls his eyes, “Find anything of importance?”

You give him a pointed look, but he just returns it. 

“These are boring anyw—“ you stop at a garment that’s wrapped in a protective travel bag made of plastic. It makes you raise a brow, unzipping the front of the garment bag only to reveal a short, expensive-looking cocktail dress. You pull it off its hanger and hold it up in front of you, “I think this is my size.”

“Yippee,” he deadpans, but you see him glancing down at the garment and you hope that he is imagining you in it, “I said only useful things.” 

“You actually said necessary,” you remind him and he scoffs, shifts, and turns away from you. Anyone who witnesses your interaction will never guess that you are sleeping together, but you like the fact that you despise him outside of the bedroom. It makes it even more fun and satisfying when he finally gives in to come fuck you. 

You feel the satin fabric between your fingers. It’s in good condition, having been saved from moths by being packed away in a plastic garment bag. It’s a classic little black dress where the hem stops just above the knees and the slit in the side leaves just enough for the imagination. You hook your fingers into the spaghetti straps and watch the way the fabric falls around the chest area. It’s very simple and elegant, and nothing like anything you’ve ever owned, “I like it. I’m taking it with me.” 

“Whatever,” Joel says after a sigh.

You stuff the dress into your bag, determined to restore it to its former glory. 

*

Joel never tells you when he will stop by and you don’t ask in case it will come off as begging for his attention. Despite this, you have a hunch of his intention to have his way with you whenever he starts acting differently around you; looks at you whenever he thinks you aren’t paying attention to him, ravishing you with his eyes that get just a little bit darker than when he normally glances your way. 

Additionally, he gets more short-tempered with your never-ending snark, and you swear that today you could see his hand twitch by his side as if he was desperate to yank you away from the rest, itching to grab whatever he could in that moment even if it meant pulling you back to your place by your hair. It had really set your next encounter in stone when you’d called him a caveman without the others hearing. The rest of the day had been him fidgeting like crazy.

You know that he doesn’t realize these tells, because he’d never give you the satisfaction of having him figured out, but oh how you wish that his stupid, overly aggressive behavior is deliberate and all for you. 

You look at yourself in the bedroom mirror after sliding on the dress, knowing you’ll see him soon because he is a man of habit and you’re his vice. 

It is rare that you see yourself dressed up like this, but the butterflies that you feel in your stomach as you gaze at your reflection make you certain that Joel will like this in just the right way.

At that, the butterflies move down between your legs where you are not wearing anything to cover you. You dip your hand between your thighs, pushing the fabric inwards, and it over your mound. You try to tell yourself that you’ve skipped the underwear because it would be visible underneath the fabric of the dress, but you know the real reason is him. You hate yourself for hating him to the point where he floods your mind whenever he isn’t here. 

You want to pull the dress up over your hips, rub your clit that’s throbbing in anticipation, but instead, you just wait.

*

When your waiting comes to an end, you hear Joel violently open the front door downstairs, ripping at the handle and calling your name multiple times to which you do not respond. There’s always a game here; where it had started out being a real refusal of him, it has turned into something else. The moment he had made you come the first time, you knew there was no going back to what was before. Now, you enjoy the cat-and-mouse act where you want him to corner you. 

Joel looks tense and impatient when he steps into your bedroom, but he doesn’t say anything for you to read the tone of his voice. He is aggressively shrugging off his jacket, biting into a leather glove’s fingertip to pull it off his hand before moving to the other and doing the same. 

The gloves suggest that he has worked late today and not showered as you have, that he has taken his frustrations towards you out on hard labor but to no avail; he has still walked in here, too turned on to pass your house on his way home. 

His outerwear ends up on the floor beside him and then he stalks after you. He is hard in his jeans, his eyes cold and black with desire, and for some reason, you find yourself backing away just because he still hasn’t opened his mouth.

“Get the fuck back here,” he seethes. He grabs your arm and pulls, too fast for you as you try to take another step away, “Why didn’t you come when I called ya?”

“Sorry, I-I…”

“You come when I call. Full stop,” he traps you against your bedroom wall and doesn’t acknowledge the dress whatsoever. The hand on your arm slides up until it rests at your throat, squeezing without doing too much damage to your windpipe whilst he examines your face. He needs you to talk, “Do you understand?”

His nostrils flare whilst you nod frantically. The grip on your throat has you lightheaded, but you think that you might want it like this, to be just on the edge of getting tunnel vision so you can see only him. He looks beautiful like this, you think, angry like a God, but your thoughts are interrupted and you moan as he shakes you a little.

“Words, use ‘em, you fuckin’ bimbo.”

“Yes, I understand,” you croak, but he mustn’t think that you give in so easily. There are a million snarky comments to select from in your head, but he doesn’t give you time to choose your favorite when he makes you cough as he lets go of your neck.

“You needa take this stupid fuckin’ dress off or I’ll rip it to pieces. You know I will,” he growls, and you bite your tongue to keep yourself from saying something to spite him. Something to hurt his huge masculine ego and compare him to a Neanderthal. So much for looking nice for his pleasure. 

Additionally, so much for scrubbing the fabric of the dress you had found in the abandoned condo until your hands were raw. In the end, it doesn’t surprise you that he doesn’t give a damn because he hadn’t even been enthusiastic when you had shown it to him during your supplies patrol together. You’d hoped that it had just been because he hadn’t seen you in it.

With a sour expression, you yank at the straps and Joel lets out a condescending huff of a laugh as he watches. You slide the straps off your shoulders and down your arms until you can pull at the top of the dress to guide it down your body. When it reaches the swell of your hips, you wiggle your ass until it pools at your feet. Joel goes quiet at the realization that you’ve gone commando.

“You were prepared, huh? Easy fuckin’ access. All I had to do was just pull it up over your ass, but ya wanted me to find out like this,” Joel tuts, immediately placing a foot between your feet. Gross, you think to yourself at hearing those words but you also realize, with the way that your walls flutter in a delicious clench of your cunt, that you like gross. Joel holds a hand out, and you get ready for the worst, but he simply cups your whole mound in his enormous hand, “Filthy girl, I fuck you that good? So good you wanna be ready for cock like that?” 

All confidence seeps out of you in an instant, because fuck, he is touching you and you almost forget how much it turns you into a little obedient dog. You gasp and find yourself pathetically nodding in an aroused state that has taken hold of you so quickly that you are feeling dizzy. You think, perhaps, that it has something to do with how it felt the last time the two of you were together. You don’t think you’ve ever come so many times in a row, kicking your legs, crying and screaming in pleasure as he reveled in your painful oversensitivity. He had promised that it would hurt, and it did, deliciously, for several days afterward. You miss being able to have a reminder of him with every step you take.

You realize now that the dress probably came off as a laughable attempt at making him have his wicked way with you once more instead of pleasing him.

Pleasing him. 

Pleasing. Him.

Fuck.

Two thick fingers press into you and the ability to elaborate on the thought of wanting to do something nice for him disappears. Instead, you keen loudly and throw yourself back into the wall with a thump. He sinks his digits knuckle-deep into your sex, and it hurts because he doesn’t give you time to adjust. 

You furrow your brows, looking down at where the heel of his hand is pushing into your clit. You take what you can get to soothe the stretch of your pussy, grinding your hips into his palm with a mewl. Your mouth hangs open in an o-shape and you’re already panting for him, desperate to come as he harshly takes his annoyance out on your g-spot. His fingers are warm inside of you from the gloves despite how he has just come from the outside, and they drag deliciously outwards along your walls again and again. 

It makes you come with a soft cry not long after. He settles his fingers inside of your cunt as you clamp down on them, a gush of your arousal dripping down into his palm as you shake and try to hold yourself up. 

Joel laughs at the dazed look in your eyes when you come down. He thrusts his fingers inside of you once more without warning before removing them altogether, smirking at the gasp you let out from being empty so soon again.

“Joel.”

You don’t know why you’re saying his name, but it makes him go a little softer. He still has his hand between your legs, fingers slowly sliding back and forth through your slick folds. It feels good, your hips stuttering each time the pads of his fingers slip across your clit, “Ya want more, sweetheart? Tell me what ya want. Ain’t that hard to use your words.”

“I missed you,” you dare to breathe because it’s true. Although it’s not so much him as it is the way he makes you feel between your legs.

He brings down his hand on your pulsing mound and clit. It makes you nearly fall to your knees but he catches you, wrapping his strong arms around you as you slump against him. It’s the post-orgasmic sensitivity that’s making it hurt like you didn’t know it could, and suddenly you have tears in your eyes from the stinging heat the slap has left. You quickly blink them away because he spits abuse at you, and you won’t give him the satisfaction of making you come and then cry, “Shut the fuck up. Don’t give me any of that pussy shit.” 

It’s a weird contrast to being held, but you suppose that he can’t fuck you if you fall face-first into the wooden floorboards and earn yourself a bad concussion. You wouldn’t put it past him though, knowing he’d probably laugh at the gibberish that you’d blabber as you came on his dick without being able to recall it the next day. 

Joel carries you in his arms, drags your feet across the floor until he can throw you onto your bed. You lie on top of the covers and look at him with glazed eyes, watching him unbuckle his belt and shove his jeans down impatiently. He undresses the rest of himself in a hurry, showing little mercy for the flannel he is wearing as he nearly pops off its buttons. It seems like a chase to get to you, but Joel has no opponents, and he’ll never have any. 

“If ya can’t use your mouth for anything other than soundin’ like a little girl begging for my attention, then you might as well have it put to other use,” he says matter-of-factly. He kneels onto the bed then, crawls forward on his knees, and settles one on either side of your head. 

His dick impressively stands into the air, an angry red color to the head that begs for touch and threatens to drip with precome. It’s never felt more inviting to suck him off, even despite the obvious unease that you’d felt the last time that he had had his dick in your mouth. 

When the bead of precome finally becomes too big and slides down his length, you respond by greedily letting your mouth fall open. He slides the fat head past your lips. The girth of him already has your jaw aching, but you take him in as far as you can and use your fist for what doesn’t fit. Your wrist twists as you work him in unison with your mouth. 

You set up a slow pace, bobbing your head despite the knowledge of how strained your neck will be in the morning when you are lying down like this. The strain is worth it all though, because you earn a moan from him. It tells you exactly how you’re doing; it’s low and guttural above you. Your pussy screams for more. 

With your lips closed around him, you suck him off in earnest to get another reaction. You hollow your cheeks whenever you draw off of him, and whilst you’re at the tip, you run the flat of your tongue along the sensitive underside. 

Not that it should surprise you at this point, but no matter how hard you try to start slow and steady, Joel becomes enthusiastic about his own pleasure very quickly and it leaves very little empathy for you. He thrusts forwards, practically burying his cock down your windpipe and you immediately start to shed big, wet tears. 

“Fuck,” he moans quietly into the room. He stares down at you, one large hand cupping your cheek to hold you in place if you try to squirm away. Your tears slide down over the back of his hand, but he doesn’t comment on it. 

Your whimper vibrates along his hard length as he starts using your throat. With his generous size, it’s hard to breathe without choking. The air simply won’t go down your lungs in the way this overwork on your body demands. It causes you to drool, slicking his dick as spit pools in your mouth. It begins to dribble down your chin, his balls smacking wetly against it.

You’re a complete and utter mess beneath him with your nose buried in his happy trail. You take his brutal stabs to the back of your throat in stride and relax your neck muscles to take him as far as humanly possible. 

His free hand curls around your hair. Occasionally, he pulls it instead of moving his hips. Your head swims, your tears flow and your throat continuously gags with obscenely wet noises. He is so noisy above you. It keeps focus on your throbbing clit instead of your pained jaw.

From his breathing, you can hear that Joel is getting closer to coming. He gets a little louder, hips stuttering and dick pulsing just a bit more on your tongue. He suddenly pulls back with a force that tells you that he has used every fiber of self-restraint to do it. You didn’t think that his caveman behavior would make him able to edge himself.

“Shit, that was too close,” he grits out between pants, moving back on you again until he is between your legs. He squeezes around the base of his cock whilst you cough violently. 

“Can’t handle a little deep-throating?” You tease hoarsely.

“Fuck you,” he snaps, mercilessly pulling your legs apart by reaching behind himself and grabbing your ankles. He digs his nails into your legs as he slides his hands upward again, smacks one of your thighs aggressively, jiggling the flesh after.

“Yes, please,” you moan at the tiny sting he has caused to your upper leg, “Please, Joel. Fuck me.” 

“Turn around,” he commands. 

“But I wanna see you,” you start but it sounds way too sugary, “-r face when you come inside me.” 

“Yeah? Well, I don’t wanna see ya,” he says with little affection, drawing a circle in the air, “Do as you’re told and turn around. I can leave if—“

“No!” You protest a little too quickly. It earns you a smug smile that tells you Joel’s ego has grown three sizes in a mere second. God, you despise how needy he makes you. 

You move onto your front, lying flat on your belly. You turn your face to the side, grabbing at whatever of the sheets you can curl your fingers into. Joel shuffles behind you, reaches for your hips to angle your pelvis and you help him by bending your knees and pushing your legs out to the sides. 

Suddenly, his crushing weight is on top of you so he can whisper filth in your ear and keep you on the verge of insanity as you wait for him. You let out a soft sound as air is knocked out of your lungs and you feel like your pelvis might snap in half. It helps that his lips attach to the space where your neck meets your shoulder, biting more than sucking. 

“Gonna make ya cream yourself on my dick, honey,” he promises with confidence in his voice, still high on his ego trip from before. Your body responds with several somersaults in your lower abdomen, your pussy clenching at its emptiness and demand for more.  

“Oh fuck, Joel, n-need you to make it hurt… till I can’t breathe, baby.”

“Yeah?” He stretches again, gets comfortable on his knees, and jiggles the flesh of your behind before smacking your ass hard. He spreads your cheeks to spit down the cleft of your ass, watching it run down over your puckered hole and further down over your pussy. It earns you a groan, “This pussy is so ready for me. Look at it drippin’.”

Then you feel him pushing into you with brutal force until you can do nothing else, but mewl weakly. It feels like he is splitting you open right down the middle of your lower body, rough hands holding you in place by your waist.

He never fails to give you exactly what you ask for. Even despite this, you put on a show of trying to crawl away from him and you’re rewarded by another hard slap to your ass. Joel moans as it makes you clench around him. 

“You stay right here where I want ya,” he growls, setting up a rhythm that makes you want to sob. He is bruising you to the point where your eyes water, filling you to the brim with every thrust and slamming the fat head of his cock into your front wall where his little favorite spot is. When you whine loudly and wantonly, he laughs darkly, “Greedy little whore. You’re fucking shameless, ain’t you? Don’t even try— fuck. You don’t even try to hide how much you want it.” 

“Yes, fuck Joel, keep going,” you egg him on as your g-spot is getting the treatment it needs to make you scream. You arch your back a little by lifting your head from the mattress, and Joel takes it as an opportunity to slide his right hand around the front of your throat until he can contort your body to accept each hard thrust without slipping away. 

The new angle makes you grip the sheets so hard that you think you might tear the fabric. Fuck it, you think, they’re old ones anyway, and with the way that you are gushing around Joel’s dick, you think you might just throw them out after this. There’s no way you’re going to give them the same treatment as the dress if no one will appreciate it.

Joel’s hand moves up to cup your whole jaw. His other hand is bound to leave a mark on your hip bone, bracing himself on it as he pounds you until he can feel tears run down over the fingers on your chin. He kisses your back, slides his tongue up to your shoulder where he plants a wet kiss. It helps with staying focused and soothes you a little as he relentlessly moves inside of you. 

He tilts your head back afterward, moves his hips a little forwards without slipping out to tower over your body. His thumb drags down on your chin, leaving your mouth a little open.

And then he kisses you for the first time ever, right on your open mouth whilst bottoming out over and over inside of your cunt right where you need him the most. You melt into his lips, delirious with pleasure that’s sending you closer to the edge and pain that’s going to linger for a few days. 

But it’s neither the pain nor pleasure that unravels you in his arms. It’s the fact that you are being allowed something so intimate from him, causing tears to spill as he tears down the pleasure that he’s built inside of your belly. You come with a feeble sob, clamping down on his cock which feels bigger now that your cunt is quivering with pleasurable shocks. 

It’s too much for him. He thrusts a few times more before his hips stutter. He buries himself inside your pussy, the tip of his dick nudging your cervix. You feel his warm load fill you up, wet squelches echoing through your quiet bedroom as he fucks you through his aftershocks. 

Your thighs are aching, your fingers too. Your cunt is a whole other story, painfully sensitive as he pulls out with a moan and rolls off of you. 

It doesn’t matter. Absolutely none of it matters. Not a single fucking thing matters besides the way that he is pulling you down onto his chest, still kissing you on the lips, roughly in the beginning, but slowly now that his energy is spent.

After a while, he starts to move. 

“No,” you whine, “Stay. Please.”

“I can’t,” he mumbles, “That ain’t how this works.”

He leaves ten minutes later, but you ache more from heartbreak than the bruises that have started to form on your skin.

.

.

.

Taglist: @aestheticangel612 @moonand2saturn @i-say-choco-you-say-ice-cream @casa-boiardi @gracieispunk @hiddenbabynyc @hopelessromantic727 @k-k0129 @livingdeadmaria

Join my taglist

[stardewremixed]

Justice for Stardewies

Because people need jobs and purpose...

Jodi

has been a single mom for so long, even though Kent returns in Year 2. She was a Registered Nurse, and replaces Maru at the clinic when Maru decides to go back to school. Jodi starts to feel her confidence grow as she works outside her home. And Harvey is a good boss, letting her work around Vincent's school schedule.

Maru

Inspired by Harvey, Maru wants to pursue and advanced degree in medical technology. With her poor eyesight, her dreams of becoming an astronaut faded. But she still gets to tinker and play with technology, which is something she loves.

Marnie / Marlon

deserves better than a "secret" relationship with Lewis. His family has wealth and historically held positions of power. The Governor is his cousin after all. Still Marnie deserves real "out in the open" love. Marlon asks her out one day after she visits the Adventurer's Guild with the weekly dairy delivery. Their first official date is the Flower Dance. And they dance together for the whole town to see. Lewis is jealous but... he had his chance. #sorrynotsorry

Shane

is sober and working at the movie theater during the evenings. He attends vet school during the day. Shane wants to open an animal clinic, with an emphasis on chickens... 🐔 er... farm animals. And he makes his famous pepper poppers for all town events.

Pam

Pam went to rehab. She is now reemployed at Pierre's. She really enjoys helping customers find what they are looking for, and she joined Caroline's class to get fit. She has already dropped almost 20lbs.

Robin

Robin does so much for the town. She is convinced by the people to run against Lewis. And then she actually wins. Since she finally has help from Alex, Robin's business is booming. She is able to hire on another employee so she can focus on her new important duties as Mayor of Pelican Town.

Linus

Is anyone surprised he actually has money? And lots of it? Linus gets involved with other veterans like himself with much encouragement from Gus. Now with properly flowing taxpayers' dollars, Linus is able to build a tiny Veterans Village for former military men and women to "get off grid," find healing, and a fresh start. Kent gets involved too after he starts counseling for his PTSD.

Alex

Robin hired Alex as a handyman. Alex is surprisingly good with his hands and figuring things out, especially electrical. With no formal training, he can rewire televisions and stereos. At first, he just tinkers in Robin's workshop. But then he starts doing bigger projects. After getting an electricians license, Alex helps wire houses and rewire faulty electrical in other homes and businesses around the Valley. It's blue collar work but it pays really well, and his skills are sorely needed. And he can work as he wants. So he still has plenty of time to toss the gridball around with friends, and take Dusty to the dog park, and even help Granny in the kitchen.

Evelyn / George

Ev still helps out at the community garden. She starts growing spices and herbs to bake in her breads and cookies. Once the Community Center is repaired, Evelyn hosts a bake sale to help with the upkeep. And Haley joins her in organizing a cake walk. George gets motivated, with encouragement from Jodi (since she is a vet's wife), to do the Valley's own version of Special Olympics. Alex helps his grandpa train.

Abigail

finally graduates after six years. She knows what she wants. She is going to pursue a master's in folklore and mythology. While it isn't business like her dad wanted, Pierre is still proud of his little girl. Abi leaves for Zuzu City (on the repaired bus line). She also has an internship lined up, translating manuscripts (since she learned ancient Dwarven).

Sebastian

takes coding to the next level. He finds a partner in Zuzu. They start a tech company together. Seb still comes home on weekends to spend time with his family (he and Demetrius patched things up ever since his stepdad got his official diagnosis as autistic). Seb always brings rice pudding for Demetrius, from the Asian Market he lives above. Seb is also working on releasing his first video game, inspired by his experiences in the mines.

Sam

After the band breaks up, Sam decides to go solo. He leaves for Zuzu City for some gigs. The first weekend he is there, he makes a connection with a talent scout who thinks Sam is really good. Sam starts landing bigger and bigger shows. Next thing he knows, he's traveling the world, opening for big name bands. It is a dream come true. He never stays in one place too long, but that's just what he loves about his "work."

Elliott

publishes his romance novel. And then his editor suggests a series. It is super successful. With his new steady income, Elliott upgrades his cabin to a proper beach cottage. He teams up with Penny to write a children's book.

Penny / the children

returns to school and obtains a proper teaching license. With help from Robin, she opens an after school enrichment program for Vincent, Jas, Leo, and a few other children. And she partners with Professor Snail to offer summer camps on Ginger Island. Penny also organizes a beach clean-up day.

Vincent starts an entomology club with the Prof, much to his delight.

Jas works with Emily to create costumes for a play. The story of the Winter Star is the first show they put on for the town. And this seriously helps Jas' confidence.

Leo repairs the treehouse with the help of Alex. And Pam, who attended cosmetology school, gives him a proper "big kid" haircut.

[writinginfinite]

we've been caught. you might as well post it.

Despite rumors among reporters, Lewis was a master of the art of concealment. It took nearly a year before you and Lewis confided in your closest friends that you two were in a relationship. Lewis yearned to show the world the woman he loved but respected your boundaries. You knew stepping into the spotlight would forever change your life and the lives of your loved ones. Protecting them was your priority. You were slowly coming around to the idea of a “soft launch” but didn’t tell Lewis because you knew he’d hop on the idea instantly. When you would feel comfortable enough to reveal yourselves remained unknown, as you cherished the balance between secrecy and love.

There was something about taking down your braids in the late-night hours that just felt right to you. Perhaps it was the hushed stillness of what surrounded you that finally allowed you to relax, even though doing your hair felt like a challenge. Or it was because you kept putting it off throughout the day and finally accepted you had to stop procrastinating. You mostly rationalized with yourself that it was the former. After laying out a few of the things you needed to take down your braid, you took a look at your surroundings, taking in it all. This bathroom wasn’t what you were used to at all. You gazed at your reflection in the grand mirror, lost in thoughts of the past month: 

Moving from your tiny apartment into Lewis' penthouse was a significant change, and despite his reassurances, it was challenging to fully embrace this place as your own. Figuring out where your things belonged and adjusting to Lewis' particular preferences was a daunting task. Lewis claimed to be okay with the changes. You understood the deep attachment he had to his home. There was a challenge now in finding a harmonious blend of your styles and creating a sanctuary that reflected your two’s shared love.

Lewis' groggy voice brought you back to reality. "Why are you still awake, love?" Lewis got home earlier in the morning after a long week. All you wanted to do was let him sleep. You tried to tiptoe around the house and quietly open and close cabinets, but now it seems like you weren’t as cautious as you thought. "I'm sorry for waking you. I was looking for more shampoo and conditioner," you apologized. You pointed towards the two bottles resting upside down on the countertop. You were trying to get as much product out as possible since you were running low.

"Oh, about that," Lewis apologetically admitted. "I used up most of it before I left. It completely slipped my mind that I needed to buy you more." For a split moment, you had a feeling of annoyance, but it was short-lived. You appreciated the little things about Lewis. His willingness to admit when he made mistakes or forgot something - a quality you weren’t used to in previous partners. Lewis sensed your frustration. "We could go get some right now," he suggested, but you quickly dismissed the idea. "Lewis, it's late, and there aren't many places open around here. Besides, you need to get some sleep. It’s the deliriousness talking," you reasoned, once again opening up the unfamiliar bathroom cabinets, as if bottles were magically going to appear.

Turning back around, you found yourself again alone in the bathroom. You made your way through the long hallways of the home, reaching your shared bedroom. You walked in to see Lewis wearing sweatpants, throwing a hoodie over his head. When Lewis noticed you were in the room, he tossed one of his sweatshirts in your direction, which you barely caught on time. "Where are you going?”

"We're going to Target," Lewis responded. "Apparently, there's one just a five-minute walk from here, and it closes in an hour and a half." His statement struck you, and a soft chuckle escaped your lips. Your boyfriend lived here for years and just discovered Target. You’ve visited that location a few times since moving in with him. This was just another reminder of the two different worlds you both lived in. Lewis thought he said something wrong, and questioned, "What's so funny?" You shook your head and replied, "Nothing, Lewis. Look, we can go in the morning, it's fine. You don't have to go through all this trouble."

"Nope," Lewis insisted with a mischievous smile. "We're going because I know how this will play out. You won't start your hair tomorrow morning, but you'll wait around all day. Then you'll end up letting the '30-minute' conditioner sit overnight, wasting another day. Tell me I'm wrong, sweetie?"

You rolled your eyes because you knew he was right. His persistence won. “Fine. Um, pass me a pair of sweatpants from my dresser and a hat,” you said while slipping Lewis’ sweatshirt over your head. This time, Lewis handed you your clothing. He placed a kiss on your forehead and remarked, “I know you better than yourself. I’ll be downstairs waiting. Also, the short braids look good on you.” After throwing on your sweatpants, you walked into the master bathroom and straight to the mirror. Lewis’ words about short braids rang in your head. Maybe I can throw some rubber bands on the end? I did cut the braids kind of straight, so I can get away for another week.

“Are you almost ready? We have like an hour before they close,” Lewis called out. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed but took it as a sign to not act on that idea.

//

"I can't believe we're going on a late-night Target run. We can just go back, it's not that big of a deal, Lewis," you attempted to persuade him, standing near the elevator. Lewis, rolling his eyes, responded, "You just don't want to take the elevator this late at night." He then grabbed your waist, pressing the button to bring the elevator up to your floor. He wasn't wrong, as he knew about your hatred for elevators. You would always opt for stairs, no matter how many flights there were. Muttering something under your breath, you clung onto Lewis, as the elevator doors closed. It was a sweet moment and you wanted to capture it. You took a photo of you two in the elevator mirror. The timing was perfect, just as the elevator stopped on the lobby floor. "Please send that to me," Lewis asked as soon as the doors opened. 

//

After finding the hair products and a few other unnecessary items, you and Lewis reached the self-checkout. You made him bag the items, and you casually asked, "When was the last time you went to Target?" Lewis shook his head, holding back a laugh. "What do you think?" he replied, aware of your teasing. Just as you were about to pay with cash, Lewis stopped you. "What are doing? Don’t even think about it," Lewis said as he pulled out a credit card. “No, don’t let me pay with cash. You know stores can pull the name on credit cards, right? I’m probably being paranoid, but let me this time.” Realizing your reasoning was valid, Lewis quickly put his card away. "I'm treating you to dinner tomorrow. Don't even argue," he said. You laughed as the receipt printed out. "Ready?" Lewis asked, grabbing the bags and taking your hand.

"I think that was Lewis Hamilton," a stranger's voice said as you and Lewis made your way toward the exits.

Worries filled your mind, and you wanted to look up to Lewis for help, but you refrained from it. You feared any reaction would confirm their suspicion. "Just keep walking," Lewis whispered, tightening his grip on your hand. Neither of you spoke on the walk back to your house. You were concerned about being found out and didn’t want Lewis to know, but you were sure he felt the same way. 

//

Silent in the elevator, you clung to Lewis, feeling his grip tighten ever so slightly. You glanced up and caught him gazing at the earlier photo. Breaking the silence, you acknowledged what had just happened. "We've been caught. You might as well post it." Lewis looked down at you, trying to read your face for any hesitation. "Wait, huh? Are you sure? It’s not delirious talk?" He questioned what you just told him. You shook your head, yes, trying not to laugh at his reaction. 

Lewis looked over the photo multiple times, ensuring that no trace of your face or any identifiable features were visible. He continued to respect your boundaries and wanted you to keep as much anonymity as possible. Lewis posed one final question, ensuring this is what you wanted. Without hesitation, you clicked the "Add to Story" button as your answer, just as the elevator doors opened. “I love you so much,” Lewis said as you two stepped off of the elevator. “I love you more than you'll ever understand, Lewis.”

author's notes: second one shot i've written. i took a small snippet i got from a request and made this. 1.4K words and it's not proofread.

(im working on imagine part x. sorry it taking forever. hopefully this kinda makes up for it)

previous one shot: what did i get myself into with you?

[awarmbowlofhomemadesoup]

Stories: Miyamoto Usagi vs. Yuichi Usagi

(made for Leonardo shippers who can't decide between two rabbits)

Both Miyamoto and Yuichi's stories are based on doing what's right -be it honor, justice or kindness.

There is a difference, with the former being for older age groups and the latter being for the younger.

(this is based on my opinion with no energy to put in sources, take it with a grain of salt)

Personalities

Assuming that Miyamoto came of age when he became a samurai during the Edo period, he became a wandering one at 16-17. Yuichi left home when he was 16.

Both Miyamoto and Yuichi share similarities. Despite Miyamoto having a perpetual scowl, they both have a sense of humor. Both are not above doing stupid stuff on rare occasions due to age and arrogance (like the time Miyamoto tried to lord his status over a monk who turned out to be Mirage comics Leo). Both are patient and giving with kids.

In the start of their stories, Miyamoto has more experience with the outside world and fighting than Yuichi as will be explained below. However, it is Yuichi who has closer bonds.

Living Situations and Relationships

Both will have different perspectives due to their living situations. Because Miyamoto is on a pilgrimage for years to find himself, the people he meets only stay with him for weeks at maximum.

He is a good guest to kind families who would take him in. Miyamoto would end up helping with their woes (whether it's exploitative landlords or businessmen stirring conflict between communities).

Miyamoto seems to be closer to his master than his father as most of his backstories on upbringing revolved around his master.

Yuichi in his story is just beginning. He is bound to the city to help with the yokai and to train with his master since he lacks the temperament and experience.

He also has friends to support and accompany him -and being their own people, they have their own conflicts that affect him and the others too.

Yuichi also has closer relations with his family, particularly his aunt, whom he feels undeserving of her love because of his many mistakes of being restless on the farm.

Threats that They Deal With

Miyamoto's life is harsh because of bandits and assassins on the roads he travels. He is a bounty hunter to have money for his travels. Sometimes, he meets malicious spirits.

While Yuichi's aunt has protected and taught him long enough, he has to deal with interstellar threats that are over his head using mystical means.

Usagi Yojimbo

Based from what I've read of Miyamoto Usagi's story in the Usagi Yojimbo comics, most of the comics revolved around honor, the code of the samurai, and how far you take it to be true to the samurai way.

Some of the comic series show the harm it can inflict on others when warriors take duty, obedience, and self-sacrifice too far:

Gen's father who spent the rest of his life looking to avenge his master at the cost of his wife's exhaustion and death, and alienating his son who resented him for it.

Another samurai who was aware of how corrupt his sworn lord was and chose to keep his honor as a samurai by defending him to the death.

But that even if you follow honor over your heart, it's sometimes the most practical and wise -such as Mariko choosing to hide the true identity of her son's father and marrying someone else so that Miyamoto can serve his master instead of running to her to take responsibility. (while I don't agree with her decisions, I can at least understand where she's coming from)

The comics don't really show what's wrong or right. It allows the readers to decide for themselves.

And for Miyamoto, he would do the right thing (duty, obedience and self-sacrifice as a samurai).

And if he can't do the right thing, then he will do what's kind.

And if he can't do what's kind, then he will do what's just.

Like in one of the comics, he was tasked to retrieve the sword of a widower's husband as it is the birthright of her son. (do what's right)

But the village girl who had a relationship with the husband wouldn't let go of the sword -even for money. Miyamoto doesn't want to force her, so she decided to give her time to think about it. (do what's kind)

But the girl's brother accidentally killed her when they fought over the sword. When Miyamoto found out, he avenged her and buried her next to the husband. (do what's just)

Samurai Rabbit: The Usagi Chronicles

The name Yuichi means "kind." And while Yuichi doesn't seem formally and in-depth trained as his ancestor in being a samurai, it frees him from its complications. He isn't as burdened as his ancestor by the samurai code.

Miyamoto and the other samurais in his time are burdened with obedience, duty, and self-sacrifice. Yuichi is free from those.

Yuichi is more straightforward. He stays in the city and help with the yokai because it is his fault. But soon, he defies what is supposedly his lord (Lord Kogane) to stand up for the yokai who had done no harm and help them find their place in the city.

While being a samurai seems outdated or outlawed in their city, Yuichi has brought balance with it by following the code his auntie has instilled in him: to defend those who cannot defend themselves. And later on, with the yokai and Kagehito: help those who cannot help themselves.

But it doesn't come without consequences. By the end of Season 2, it would be believable if the risks he took would haunt him despite everything becoming alright. He risked his life, his family and friends' lives, and the city in an advanced alien invasion to help another alien. Things might have turned differently if he hadn't learned to connect with the Ki crystal at the last minute.

Conclusion

Comparing the two Usagis is like comparing a ponkan from an orange. Both use kindness as a weapon, but each wields it differently due to experience, situation, and period of living.

They will both carry different regrets. They will have different stories and choices because they have similar but different perspectives. Miyamoto has been doing his pilgrimage for years. Yuichi is still beginning his journey.

But this is just my opinion from having completed Samurai Rabbit S1 and 2, and about 40 series of Usagi Yojimbo before taking a break. Do what you will.

[sun-archeron]

seen some people say that after missy's complex arc, dhawan!master's motivation/cruelty feels a little shallow, but i liked it, bc it mirrowed 13th's personality

after what happened with clara, bill and river, 13th ran away from the past more so than the former doctors did. while the others weren't super open, they didn't completely shy away from questions from the companions, and would even give out information unprompted. but not 13th. she refused to answer any questions about her past, refused to let her companions get too involved, bc clara bill and river were the ones who learned the most about him and they had horrible endings, so by withholding information she was protecting them.

but to shut out the past like that she had to shut out her emotions about the past as well. thats why she was so cheery and joyfull. sure, part of it was due to 12th's wish to what kind of person he wanted to be in this next regeneration (laugh hard, run fast, be kind), but another part was just 13th supressing her sadness and trauma as hard as she could, "fake it 'till you make it"

and dhawan!master reflects that. as missy she tried really hard to change, she really had hope of quieting the anger, the drums (that even if they are not there anymore the memory of them will always echo in her head), and she almost made it. but then she was stopped, by herself to make matters worse. and then she died. and regenerated. and after that he thought "well, i tried and look how it ended. its best to just stick to what i know",and he went home, to gallifrey, to snoop around their dirty secrets (their failures) to distract himself from his own. and he discovered the worst possible thing. and that was too much, too soon. so he resorted to the one dimensional "evil for evil's sake" persona. because its easier to just unleash indiscriminated anger and cruelty than to face the vulnerable hurt part of himself.

but the thing is, it can't last forever. not 13th's forced positivity and not the master's forced gleefull madness. and of course, it would fall apart when they faced each other. the master tried to keep up his uncaring mask, but once he started talking he couldn't not be vulnerable with her. and the doctor tried to treat him like she would any other enemy/villain of the week, but when she argued with him she couldn't not take it seriously. because before they were enemies they were best friends. they know each others souls better than anyone else. and they just can't pretend that in their hearts there isn't a part that still bleeds for what they had, what they were.

so, yeah, this is my way of saying i love 13th and dhawan!master and the way their characters were written (even if i dont love the general writing of 13th's seasons)

[ramp-it-up]

Bucky Barnes and the Summer Soldier- One

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced! Reader

Summary: Bucky has been looking for you for a while. Is he going to destroy you before you complete your mission?

Word Count 2.2K

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. S MUT! Read at your own risk. Curate your own experience. Reader is confined in a mental health faculty, suppressed memories, Pursuit, implied former combat, kidnapping, coercion, mind control, dub con. Raw s ex, hair pulling, rough s ex, cream pie, c um play/oral (m receiving), a ssault. Google translate Hausa and Russian. Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: This is a result of this ask from @flordeamatista. I have taken great liberties with the MCU cannon and timeline. This is fiction! As always, reblog if you like it!

I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

You ran for your life, lungs burning, feet flying.

You looked behind you to see that the one pursuing you was not far off. You ducked down a hallway and into an open door. 

Your chest heaved as you leaned against the wall and looked around for a hiding space.

Fragmented memories were coming back to you during this pursuit, and at this moment, the sense of running barefoot through tall reeds on the banks of a river overwhelmed you. 

You shook it off, although you couldn’t help yourself from looking to the air for your favorite brightly colored water fowl. Your heart dropped when you looked around to register an empty room with a solitary gurney. The fact that you were trapped in a mental hospital and not outside it sucked the air out of you. 

And then you heard his footsteps.

Bucky slowed his pace as his ears perked up, and he opened the same door you did moments before. He’d come for you an hour ago and you’d managed to evade him ever since. Typical for one who’d taken the serum. You were a hard target to acquire, but he was determined.

He scanned the empty room, checking for trap doors or hidden panels. He walked over to the windows, which were sealed shut. He looked down on the courtyard that patients weren’t allowed to use and shook his head, then, he made his way out of the door again.

You waited three minutes after you heard his footsteps retreating before you moved the ceiling tile and dropped down from where you’d been hiding.

For some reason, the man you were hiding from you terrified you. Ever since you saw his face weeks ago when you fought him on a mission, you’d been plagued with strange memories. Which made your Master have to reset you again and again. You resented that. 

Despite the fact that you felt impelled destroy him, you did not want to face the dark-haired man in black with the piercing blue eyes again. You may not know your own name, but you knew that man had some mysterious power over you. Even more so than the Power Broker.

Just as you reached for the doorknob, the door jerked open, the man in black returning your stare with a rueful grin. You’d been too lost in your own thoughts to be fully aware of his presence.

“Daga karshe na sameki masoyiyata.”

Your ears perked up at the language that the man spoke. You understood it, although you’d spoken French for as long as you could remember, which wasn’t long. Maybe this horrible institution wasn’t your home.

“Why did you call me that?”

Your eyes widened when English came out of your mouth. It seemed a natural response to this man. You were very confused, more than you normally were, which was always.

The man was inching closer to you now.

“Because that is who you are, Soyayya ta.”

“No! That’s not true!”

You hurled yourself at the man, climbing up his body and winding up with your legs around his neck. You squeezed,  hoping to choke him out while he grinned up at you.

“Yes it is.” 

His voice was weak, as if he was gasping for breath. For an unknown reason, you let up on his windpipe.

Suddenly, you were sat on the gurney, your right leg in his left hand. You could not get out of his grip and you two stared at each while he held your legs apart. When he licked his lips was when you kicked him in the sternum. Clearly, he was surprised at the force, which caused him to double over, but he quickly recovered and caught you before you moved two feet, grabbing your bicep and bringing your arm behind your back, placing you none too gently against the wall.

You grunted as you felt all of him, including his manhood, pressed hard and insistent upon your back. 

Was he going to violate you? 

Did you want him to?

Yet another language flowed out of his mouth, which was close to the shell of your ear. You suppressed a shiver as you heard his velvet voice. 

“Sygrayem v nashu malen'kuyu igru, kukolka?”

He snaked his left arm around your neck and pressed you back further into him as his gloved hand turned your face to his. He leaned around, as if he was going to kiss you, and opened his mouth. His breath fanned your face as he bared his teeth and bit the pointer finger of the black leather glove he was wearing. He used his mouth to tear the glove off to reveal a black and golden hand. You were mesmerized by it until it was quickly clamped over your mouth.

The sensation was familiar and when you tasted the metal; it was nearly orgasmic. Your eyes rolled baack into your head and you  all but ignored the man’s other hand roaming your body.

“I’m just checking you to see if you’re okay, Doll.”

The hand tasted like home, like warm air and smells of your favorite foods. It tasted like beautiful people and excellence and safety and…Wakanda. Your eyes flew open when you realized.

Vibranium. 

You sobbed as memories came flooding to your mind. The pathetic sounds were muffled by the vibranium hand.

Your mother. Your father. The river that was your home. Your weapons. Your money. The vow you took when you became a Dora Milaje and Shuri’s personal guard. The same vow that you broke when you fell in love with Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier…

“Farar kerkecina.…James…”

“Shhhh Doll. I’m here now.” 

Bucky pulled you into his arms from behind, and you held on to the limbs that were wrapped around you as you cried, one human and one created by the Princess, Shuri.

Finally, you turned around and looked up at the love of your life. He peered back at you, eyes full of concern, but also a mixture of relief, love, and yes, need.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t answer him, instead, you asked your own question.

“How long, James? How long have we been apart?”

Bucky brought his hand up to your face, thumb tracing your chin and fingers in your dense curls.

“A little over two years.”

You gasped and tears fell again fresh and new. 

“I searched for you every day. I promise, Doll. And you’ve been right under my nose…”

Your heart melted.

“I know you did. The Power Broker is devious. She did horrible things. Made me do…”

And then he kissed you. His lips were the softest and strongest you’d ever tasted. You licked into his mouth and fisted his t shirt between you. 

“You don’t have to tell me. I know. And I’m going to find her and bring her to justice.” 

Bucky was panting as your hand strayed to touch the bare skin and the metal under his shirt. He smirked when you pinched his nipple.

“She is mine to destroy.”

Bucky’s smirk turned into a full fledged grin when you glared up at him and opened his pants. He shivered when you fisted him.

“There’s my girl.”

You separated from him as you pulled your shirt over your head. Next went your pants and underwear as Bucky’s eyes roamed your body. He licked his chops, just as the White Wolf would.

“You sure you don’t wanna leave, Doll? Need to check you out. Need to get you an examination… get you safe…”

You backed away from him toward the gurney.

“I need to have you James. Please. I remember. It’s been so long. I need some control back. Please.”

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from moving toward your upturned ass as you bent over the gurney and looked over your shoulder at him.

“You told me the serum heightened everything. But I didn’t understand before. I need you now, James.”

Bucky was drawn to you as if on a string.

“I get it, Doll. Everything is so much. You sure you alright, Doll?”

You hadn’t said that you were before, but you avoided the topic again.

“See for yourself, farar kerkecina.”

Bucky rubbed your ass, eyes glazed over, lust flowing through his veins. It had been a long 26 months and visions of you clouded not only his dreams, but every spare waking moment. He couldn’t help it.

His metal hand quickly undid his belt and pants while his right, his flesh, dipped into you, feeling the wetness between your legs. You reached back to the arm that shined, incrementally trying to bring him into you. He held you off, but he did slowly start to swipe his cockhead through your neglected folds.

“Oh…”

Bucky watched and drooled as he took in the vision of your mouth and that wide open, perfect O of those perfect lips.

“So gorgeous… Soyayya ta..”

He slowly breached your tight hole, and your mouth widened impossibly even more as the stretch almost took you out. It hurt, but it hurt so good, the only positive sensation you’d had in over two years. 

This time, Bucky let you reach back to grasp the base of him, slowing down as he saw the difficulty with which you were having taking him. You adjusted his aim, and he paused, hand on your hip as you spread your cheeks so that he could get inside you. Your eyes met in surprised sensation as he was finally able to slide all the way home. 

“Feel so damn good, White Wolf!”

You started moving faster on his cock as his hands slid up your wiast to your tits, squeezing, groping, making up for lost time.

He was stroking a slow, steady, deep pace, as his metal fingers made their way into your open mouth, pressing down your throat as your tongue swirled around your native metal. 

“So goood….”

You were gagging around his fingers, partly because of his actions, and partly because he felt so good inside you. You reached back and grabbed his shirt, pulling on it as you took his thick cock inside you, looking back at him stretching your tiny hole with awe. You looked into each other’s eyes as you felt him swelling impossibly.

“Love your bald head, but I like this hair, Doll. I can do this…”

And Bucky grabbed your curls, pulling on your roots deliciously and stretching your neck so that he could engage you in a filthy kiss while he drove into you. You separated, gasping for breath.

“Bast! James, is your cock made of vibranium too?”

He laughed at the old joke, which made the rounds of the Dora until you found out the truth.

“You make me feel like it is, soyayya ta.”

Bucky let you go so that you could hold on to the gurney and fuck yourself on his cock.

He grabbed your breasts again and the look of surprised lust came was mirrored on both of your faces as you felt yourself squeezing him with your impending orgasm.

“C’mon, Soyayya ta. Give it to me.”

“James, oh James. Oh….!”

“Good god!”

You bent fully over the gurney when you came, and Bucky had a clear view of your beautiful cream on his cock. That’s when he started pounding you out properly, using you to reach his end. Your senses were so alive that you felt each stream and splash of his cum inside you, and it caused your sensitive cunt to shudder. You lay there under him as he collapsed on top of you, relishing the feel of him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Bucky kissed your shoulder and down your back as he looked around for something to clean up with. You looked back at him, and stood up, Bucky’s spend leaking down your legs.

“Let me.”

You gave him that look as you bent over, taking his still semi-hard cock in your hand. You stared at him straight on as you took him in your mouth and cleaned him off.

“That mouth, those eyes… you’re killing me here…”

You smiled around his girth and then opened your mouth to let him see the effects of your handiwork.

 “On my life, Doll. I will never get enough of you.”

He pulled you up to standing and leaned down to give you a filthy kiss.

“So glad to have you back in my arms.”

Bucky turned around and leaned on the gurney as he held you. You leaned into him, tears pricking your eyes as you felt the same emotions, but knowing what you had to do. 

“I love you, farar kerkecina…”

You gave him a tender kiss on the lips before you delivered a blow to his vagus nerve. Bucky went out immediately, and you gently laid him on the gurney before you got dressed again.

“I have to finish this with the Power Broker, and I know you will try to stop me.”

You tucked the underwear that you’d cleaned up with into his jeans pocket, trading them for the keys to this asylum.

“We will be together soon, my love.”

You gave him a kiss on his perfect lips before you quickly made your out of the hospital, on your way to kill Sharon Carter for making you the Summer Soldier and taking the child from your belly.

Daga karshe na sameki masoyiyata (Hausa)– "I finally found you my love"

Soyayya ta (Hausa)— My Love

Sygrayem v nashu malen'kuyu igru, kukolka? (Russian)-- "Shall we play our little game, Doll?"

Farar kerkecina (Hausa).… "My white wolf"

[pursuitseternal]

“Stealing:” the Raven and the Ascendant at it again in “Our Blood is Thicker”

(Ascended) Astarion x Cordehlia (Tav) | E | 4K

🎨 by @marimosalad full more NSFW ON X and below the cut

Summary: Returning home, Cordhelia gets her hands on Astarion’s old tunic. What better way to tease him, just like she used to… by stealing his stuff.

CW: busty!Cordy, the Raven and the Ascendant’s continuing journey, dirty talk, taunting, and praise, marriage bond flashback, floor riding smut.

Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 22… Stealing

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

“Love?” Cordehlia called as she trudged her way up the stairs of the Palace. Her hand left a few streaks of blood on the handrail as she climbed higher towards their chambers. She rolled her eyes as the new colors he had chosen for the Palace, intimidating darks and burning scarlets and burnished golds. Everything the world expected of the Vampire Ascendant as he made his new domain on the ashes of his former Master and tormentor.

She huffed through her nose. The Crimson Palace. Of course he’d take that literally.

Cordehlia couldn’t even look at the massive sprawling portraits of his face that dotted the place. She, more than anyone, knew his ego could rage if unchecked, shaking her head, she recalled all that dripping arrogance as the young lording of their people. Now add wealth, unparalleled power, and the title of Hero of the Gate…. Cordehlia sighed as she reached the master bedroom.

The sunset’s light poured into the room through the colored windows, a wash of blues and greens and goldens like the forests of their youth. For as bloodied as the rest of the Palace had been made, this… this was their sanctum. Their private retreat from the demands of power and expectation. A place where the Vampire Ascendant and his Consort were just… them. Walls, bedding, decor, it all was burnished in golds and colored in verdancy. Airy and light and simple. A breath of fresh forest air in the throes of the City.

“Astarion?” Cordehlia called once more, starting to unlace her bloodied black leather armor. Those Bhaalists had been easy. Too many to dispatch quickly, but easy. She slipped off each piece to set it carefully by the door. The blood collected and dried in the little carved feathers all along her armor. For as fearsome as she looked as the Raven, it sure was hell to clean after each night she went out. Fortunately they had servants now. A palace full.

Besides, he liked the way she looked in the armor he had bought her, when she was covered in black leather and cape, face half concealed beneath her new helm. His little harbinger of death, his own fierce Right Hand to work in the shadows.

The fall of the Netherbrain had only been a beginning, the rest of those tendrils… or tentacles… of the Dead Three’s power still needed dismantling. By day, they rebuilt the City, funding projects and attending galas, by night they crept in the dark to finish what had begun months before….

When they weren’t here, in this bedchamber, still making up for centuries apart from one another.

She smiled, still looking around the room for any traces he was home. But given the pristine cleanliness, the answer was a resounding negative. His meetings must have run late, she concluded, heading to the bathing chamber to draw a warm bath. Bhaalist blood, she had learned, tasted worse than it smelled, and she was eager to be free of it.

Today had been a special battle, one opportunity to try to cut the Bhaalists off at the root, and it had taken her nearly all day. As she sank into the warm and soapy water, she felt the tension leaving her muscled frame. A few moments to herself sounded like balm to her weariness. After all, if she truly needed him she could simply tug gently at that new bond that connected them mind to mind, not just soul to soul. No, for now, she could enjoy herself alone.

Maybe it was her lost in the scent of the perfumed soaps, of moss and sweet grass and wildflowers that wafted on the steam. Maybe it was her, lost as she wandered through her memories of times before, of their young, carefree and bloodless days.

Whatever it was, Cordehlia’s heart brimmed with nostalgia.

As the sun lowered, it slatted through the cool colored stained glass of their rooms, bathing her in a flood of green and blue light. Cordehlia smiled, remembering the mossy banks of their youth in the forests of the Yuirwood. So far away, and so long ago, she could feel the same longing for nature and the open air. The water had grown cold, the only sign of how long she had been soaking away the sweat and blood of her day. Stepping out carefully, she dried her cool and pale skin, heading into their bed chamber to find something comfortable for the evening.

She took a deep breath as she crossed their large chamber. Her hand ran over the leaves and scrollwork of the patterns on their wardrobes. For all the comforts she had at the tips of her fingers now, she missed those days on the road, fucking in his tent, falling in love with him all over again for the man he was now, the reflection of her own inner darkness made sharper inside him.

The door opened easily, her elegant gowns and lingerie hanging perfectly inside. Such finery. Too fine for her. She glanced at the bloodied leather armor across the room, grappling with that lingering pain in her heart at the darkness she was trying to use for good, for justice… for cleansing the City. Still, her heart longed to go back to simpler days, innocent days. She craved those moments when Astarion was with her, making her heal from that demanding darkness that was her nature.

Her hands searched the bottom of the wardrobe, a pile of their old clothing from their adventures on the road pushed into the darkest, furthest corner. Carefully, she fished out her old flowing tunic, the bell shaped sleeves still forever stained from dirt and blood and Illithid slime. The nostalgia was so great, her heart thrumming with the memories of joy and angst of it all. Another pale, stained linen shirt laid beside it.

Those ruffles, that deep v cut and lacing sent a thrill of recognition instantly to her heart, and her core. Soft as she remembered, she held the shirt in her hands, reverent almost, as she pressed it to her face. Breathing deeply, her heart thumped slowly but steadily with the rush of joy it gave her.

His. His shirt. Old and repaired countless times and eccentric. Just like him.

A tug of a smirk at her lips, and she settled it over her body. She had grown a little rounder, fuller, and curvier since their days on the road and in battle. Well-fed, cared for, adored, her curves strained against the narrow cuts of his shirt. Her breasts nearly poured out from that deep v of his collar. An embrace of his shirt all over her torso.

She smiled. Oh, he would be livid to see her in this, she smirked. Not that she liked irritating him or inciting him to be annoyed. She didn’t like doing that… she loved it.

Just as she was imagining that irritated furrow to his brow and his nasally and whiny voice, his near-silent footsteps climbed up the center stair. Her stomach leapt, oh, she would taunt him mercilessly in this. She glanced over her shoulder, impish as she bent down to rummage more in the bottom of their wardrobe. She made sure the hem of his shirt rested on the crest of her hips as she bent forward.

Giving him a sight to behold as he entered.

Reckless, mischievous, Cordehlia held her breath to savor the sounds of him. The click of the door, the sharp inhale into his undead lungs, the softer gritting of his teeth and racing of his pulse as he took in the display of his Bride as she presented herself so… lewdly. So perfectly.

“My…” he couldn't even get out a pet name without his voice cracking at the sight of her bent over like that. He could smell her bloodied, discarded armor beside him as he closed the door. “A successful raid against the Bhaalists, it would seem, my little Raven.”

Cordehlia smirked, her face the perfect picture of startled and breathless. Too perfect. “Oh, my love,” she turned completely around and stood strength, a hand on her heaving bosom as if she had to catch her breath. “I didn’t know you were home…”

His eyes narrowed, an irritated smirk on his thick and sensual lips. “Yes you did, my little minx,” he rasped. “You’re senses are too sharp for that excuse, they always were,” he grunted as he crossed to her. Crimson eyes scanned her body, taking in the sight of her shirt.

His shirt.

“Where did you find these old rags?” he purred, that privileged, judgmental tone cooling his voice as he crossed over towards her. His finger picked at the ruffles as if they offended him. “I’ve bought you dresses, exotic silks and shifts and gowns for the bedroom, and this…” he sneers a bit naughtily, “you pick my old shirt?”

“I did,” she smiled back, so haughty and taunting. “For as… nice as your gifts are…” she trailed off, making her eyes big and innocent and teary, “they just don’t smell or feel like you against my skin…”

His eyes dilated as he watched her hand against her skin, watching as she teased his shirt over her body. “It’s a little snug, however,” she chuckled, picking at the collar that her breasts were positively spilling out from.

All fangs and breath, he kissed her, consuming her. Hands clawed at those full and supple breasts she couldn’t stop mentioning. His fingers squeezed like a vice, a moment of aggression followed by long and sensuous caressing. Cordehlia groaned, arching against him, trying to lift the shift from her body.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted in mock chastisement. “You made your choice of apparel. And I must say, I might even look better on you than me, my love. But now, you’re going to have to live with the consequences of your choice.”

“You mean, getting fucked is the consequence of my choice, don’t you?”

Astarion only gave that low, reverberating chuckle. “Now, I liked the sight of you before, why don’t you bend over again, my bride, and I’ll give you what you were clearly seeking?”

She looked so innocent as she smiled up at him. As if she hadn’t just been bent over to taunt him, as if she hadn’t been caked in the blood of their enemies before that. “I don’t know what you mean, she replied so calmly. “I was just looking for a little something comfortable to slip into.” She tried to back away, eyes darting as he started to unfasted the clasps of his ornate jacket before it landed on the floor for him to step over. “You’ll never believe…” she smirked, impish as she backed up some more, “I thought it was my tunic, it felt so familiar until I put this old thing on.” Letting out a small giggle, she only smirked harder as he closed that distance she kept insisting on making.

His ravenous smirk only widened. “You always did like games of chase as a girl,” he replied, voice like gravel from his growing desire for her. “And you always were such a tease and a horrible liar.”

Cordehlia let out a giggle as she turned to dart away. But he was all the faster, too many decades of these same kinds of games to not know her every next little move. Swiftly and suddenly, her vision was filled with bright blues and greens of the stained glass windows as he caught her and pinned her tightly beneath him. “I think I’ve won, my darling,” he rasped in her ear, his body pressing against her back and his hands running up and down her bare legs.

“For now…” she purred as she pushed away from the window just a bit.

“How about, for now, you let me enjoy the sight of you in my shirt, you adorable thief,” he chuckled, a hand reaching around her waist, the other pinning her hands above her head and against the cool glass of the windows. The bare skin of his chest radiated heat, his temperature seeming to burn hotter the more his hand slunk over her belly, the more it teased the ancient fabric of his old shirt. “Little light fingered Cordehlia, always getting in trouble…”

She huffed a laugh, hiding the groan in her voice as his fingers found their way between her legs. “Usually getting caught because of something you made me do with you, little lordling.” He tried to lift her head away from the window, but his hand just squashed her harder, pressing her breasts against the cool glass harder, making her shiver where her skin touched it from the cut of his shirt.

“Now, now,” he groaned, grinding his hardened cock against her bare ass, “you got me into trouble just as much, from what I can recall.”

Cordehlia gave that low and musical laugh, her mirth broken by a few pants as his fingers determinedly sought out her clit. “From what I

remember, you loved it…”

Astarion hissed, his cock aching to be so confined, but that feeling and scent of her own arousal was too delicious to pull away from. Closing his eyes, he felt her mind, her memories tickling in his own brain, an invitation to join her. The blue and green light of the room faded from reality, the sun of the Yuirwood bathing their youthful faces as her memories came to life….

“You give that back!” Astarion’s voice called after her, that red-haired terror he loved to be around. Loved to be around… until she did something utterly irritating, like stealing his new book from his mother.

“I’m not going to break it,” she taunted back over her shoulder, her rosy lips turned in a teasing, impish grin. “Not like you need another book for your massive collection, Astarion, you spoiled brat.”

That made him grind his teeth and sprint all the faster after her. Reaching one hand, he caught the trailing ends of her hair, pulling her up short and making her tumble into the mossy forest floor.

“Fuck you!” Cordehlia hissed, barely breathing as the wind got knocked from her lungs. Astarion towered over her, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Doubly naughty,” his voice creaked from thirst and exertion. “Stealing my book,” he snatched it from her hands as she laid in the dirt, “and using such foul language for a she-elf of breeding.”

She sneered a smile, her fist landing at the back of his knee making him crumple to the dirt beside her. Swift and graceful, she pinned him down. “You’d think you would know, by your age, I am not just some she-elf of breeding…”

“By our age, you should know that it’s unbecoming and unattractive to steal things from your closest of friends. We aren’t just little elflings anymore.” He grunted, his face growing pink as he fought against her hands that braced his fists at his side, as he tried to throw her off from how she straddled him.

“You know I hate when you do this?” He spat.

“Do what?” Cordehlia pouted, holding on to him tightly. “When I beat you? When I outsmart you?” She taunted, reaching for the book from his side to flaunt it in his face.

“I hate when you pin me like this, like some little brat of a she-elf,” he grumbles. But Cordehlia only held on harder, pushing him to the earth more beneath her legs. She moved to toss the book away when…

“Astarion, is something the matter?” She looked at him, his eyes were dark, his face was flushed. “You don’t look right…” As she moved to set the book down, she felt something under her. “Something wrong with your stomach? You have a bump…”

He hissed and threw her off. “I said I don’t like it,” he grumbled, grabbing his book and holding it over his lower stomach. “Stop taking my things, Cordehlia, and maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll share them with you instead.” He sniffed and turned to stride away.

Her laughter broke the spell, their memories fading as the palace’s walls and colored windows took shape again. She rammed him backwards, sending Astarion flying most ungracefully to the carpet behind him. Sprawled out, he caught his breath, opening his eyes to see her feral, cunning leering face descend on him to pin him down. “Little did I know then just how much you actually loved when I was pressed against you,” she purred, sitting astride him the same as in the past, her hips grinding down on his confined cock, hands splayed on his bare chest.

He groaned under her, teeth bared and hands tight on her hips.

“Don’t look so cross with me,” she panted, grinding her slick folds on the velvet of his breeches. “How can you be angry when I look so adorable in my purloined shirt?”

“Because…” he grunted, “one, it’s my shirt, and two…” he slid his hands to the band of his trousers, forcing them down to let his cock finally free, “if I don’t do now what I wanted to do with you then, I’m afraid you’ll find me far worse off than… cross…” he smirks up at her, fangs glinting with mischief.

“Oh, you can be so much worse than cross,” Cordehlia teased, “spoiled for instance, annoying…” that smooth, hard skin of his cock pressed deliciously beneath her, and biting her lip, she tilted herself to catch it. Sinking on to it, groaning to be finally filled and satisfied to have him under her power.

Astarion bucked beneath her, a pleased, arrogant grin on his lips as his eyes closed. “Well, at least I’ve learned over the centuries how to play nicely with one person.”

“Ha! Barely,” Cordehlia scoffed as she slowed down on him. Sitting perfectly, frustratingly still, she teased his shirt on her body. Her strong and lithe fingers brushing her skin where her breasts pushed up through the cut of his collar. Lifting up its hem, she brought that ivory fabric to her face and breathed in deep. Astarion’s eyes went wide, dark and dilated as he watched her own pale belly and the curves of her breasts slowly come into view. Every breath she took, he could feel her muscles expand and relax around his cock. And then she sighed, “Still smells like you, my love. Like your salt and sweat and musk… like how you smelled after a long day of fighting and killing and…” she dropped the shirt and grinded on his length again suddenly, “fucking.”

He sat up with so much strength, wrapping her body in his arms, face nuzzled into her shoulder. His breath flowed over the crook of her neck, sending shivers to scatter down her spine. “Honestly, darling, now it smells like you… mouthwatering and fresh and fierce.” He smirked at her, slowly lifting his head to brush noses with his love. “And I think I like it better that way…”

Fangs sank gently into her neck, making Cordehlia buck erratically on his lap, the sudden movement making him pull away quickly with a snarl. Blood on his chin, dripping down her neck, he looked her over with lust-blown eyes. Lips pressed against his gently, her breath sweeter than meadowgrass as she slowly rode him. A steady tempo, a rocking of their union as she took her sweet time to buck on his cock. Craving every inch, every ridge and vein of him single her, she wanted to feel, to remind her that they had made it.

They had won.

Her undead heart palpitated in her chest, or maybe it was his own heart beating so hard beneath his ribs it resonated in her very bones. He bent in worship of her, giving her the very air from his lungs and blood from his veins to sustain her as they moved like water over rocks, so pure and fluid. Warm touch and strong fingers clung into her hair, tugging her head back, angling her mouth just right for his tongue to delve deep inside, to skate over her fangs and feast on her taste. Breath growing short, her aching muscles flooded with the need to finish, to chase that release he always, always gave. Arms hugged her tight, a gesture that was once so innocent between them now something so full-blooded and thick with heavy desire. Her own two arms, capable of so much violence and strength, clutched around his neck, pulling his mouth to fasten against her own.

The fading daylight bathed them in the softer blues and greens through the windows of the palace. It warmed their skin from without, even as the slow friction of their coupling warmed them quickly from within. His breath grew harsh and stilted, his teeth biting hard on themselves, jaw tight, and every muscle drawn tense; it was enough to shove Cordehlia into her own wave of climax in the same breath as him.

Her lungs burned as all the air disappeared, her aching muscles bunched and fluttered, all she could do was gasp to fill her empty lungs with air. Every breath was laden with his scent, ancient and familiar from his shirt caressing her body, and that all-too-familiar perfume of elegance, of citrus and herbs and brandy.

Catching her breath, she felt his head fall against her bosom, the Ascendant laid low as he caught a second wind cradled against his love’s body. “To bed?” he whispered softly. Drenched, Cordehlia slid off his lap, locking eyes with him as looked up at last.

His eyes might have been kohl-lined now and crimson, his teeth like weapons, and his back forever scared by his torment, but in the bath of blue-green light, he stole her breath. This mighty Ascendant, and yet still the same cocky elven boy who smirked, stealing her heart… he looked up at her with wide loving eyes.

Astarion, even more lithe and sleek since his ascension, stood and pulled his trousers all the way off. Without warning, he swept her in his arms, catching her back in his grip and her lips in his kiss. Their bed caught her as he slipped in beside her, on her, everywhere at once.

Attentive, lusty, and passionate—just as he always had been since he first laid claim to her heart, and then her body, and now her future. Finally.

The room darkened as the sun set, verdant greens and lush blues turning to black again as night fell outside their little haven of a bedroom. But they were far from finished.

Pants and sighs and the slaps of flesh filled their room for hours, but even the undead eventually end up collapsed in a pile of bliss. Resting her head on his chest, the pounding of his heart was her lullaby, that ancient pattern that had soothed her to sleep for years, and Cordehlia drifted off into sleep, still hugged tightly in his old shirt.

Hand in hand, he held her body, not just in his arms in their palace, but in their minds. In their dreams, he found her, bathed in the real soft greens of the Yuirwood. Her confident face looked at him with all the love she had preserved for him for centuries, her eyes a mix of silver and crimson, the oneness of who she had always been and who she was now. His bride, his beloved, and his Raven. Bringing her dream-lips against his, he could taste her breath again on his real tongue.

Lost in his touch, Cordehlia clung to his body and soul. For that moment, even among the dream-like trees, she could smell him, feel him, that boy that stole her and became her everything.

💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

Just a bit nsfw… so we post it here, by @marimosalad

Hope you loved these menaces 💞

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

chapter xx – gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 3,900+

Warnings: mentions of sexual assault, human trafficking

masterlist

Y/N woke up in a jolt. Somehow she immediately knew she had slept in. Her head whipped to the window to note that the sun was far too high in the sky. She was late for training. 

She sprinted around the room, changing into her training gear. 

That was when she registered that she wasn’t changing out of pajamas, but the clothes from yesterday. 

Y/N paused as all the events of last night returned. 

Eris had climbed onto the back of her horse. He’d carried her to her chambers last night and tucked her gently into bed. 

It felt like a dream. How had it not panicked her to be so close to someone who still felt like a stranger sometimes? But her body had only been relaxed – past her utter exhaustion, that is. 

Y/N blinked, urging herself out of the memory. 

She was already so late, and the Weapons Master would surely be irritated and make her pay for it by being extra hard on her with training. 

Y/N sprinted down the halls of the Forest House, yelping out apologies over her shoulder to all the servants that she nearly ran into in the process. 

But when she arrived to the training courtyard, the Weapons Master was nowhere to be found. 

And in his place was Eris – shirtless. 

A dozen soldiers surrounded him with various weapons drawn. They all took turns attacking their High Lord – or sometimes all lunging for him at the same time. 

Y/N knew Eris was the general of Autumn Court’s army before usurping Beron. Yet seeing him handle a sword so well still caught her by surprise somehow. It was clear he had been taking it easy on her when they'd sparred at the top of the House of Wind.

Eris never looked panicked, and he handled every attack as if it was obvious. But the only thing that was obvious was that his soldiers were not holding back anything. In fact, they seemed utterly frustrated that they couldn’t get a hit on their High Lord. Perhaps their failure to do so was an insult to Eris’ training as their former general. 

Eris’ skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat. And that sweat only made his muscles even more pronounced. 

Upon their earlier run ins, Y/N had assumed Eris was leaner than the other male fae she had befriended. But he was just as muscular as Azriel and Cassian – whom Y/N had seen shirtless almost more times than she saw them clothed. 

Once Y/N was able to get past her own attraction, she noticed that Eris’ skin was also riddled with scars. 

From what she knew of fae bodies, it was rather hard for injuries to scar. But after Y/N had witnessed – and been a victim herself – to Beron’s evil, she could only assume that the bastard had a hand in most of Eris’ scarring. 

Eris knocked down one of his soldiers, giving himself a few pauses of rest, when he noticed Y/N’s arrival. 

They all followed his gaze, wondering what had caught their High Lord’s attention. 

With it, they all bowed deeply to her. 

The gesture still made Y/N uncomfortable. It felt undeserved and quite silly. 

A servant rushed over to Eris with a towel before he reached her. 

“Sleep well?” Eris asked her casually.

Clearly, he was completely unaware of what his semi-nakedness was doing to her. 

“I didn’t mean to sleep in,” Y/N muttered with embarrassment, trying hard not to stare at his pecs or abs. 

“I did,” he quickly countered. “I canceled your training last night. You have been overworking yourself.” 

Y/N glared at him and crossed her arms. “You are allowed to force a break on me. But does that power go both ways?” 

Eris smirked. “Why? Are you concerned for me, little witch?” 

But Y/N didn’t back down. “Well, someone has to be.”

He seemed surprised at how easily she admitted it. 

“Come, I have something to show you.” He nodded to the door back inside the Forest House. 

The servant came back to him. This time, with a white tunic. 

Eris threw it over his head, not bothering to tie the neckline. So Y/N still got a peak of his muscular chest. 

Y/N walked alongside him as he led her through the curving hallways. 

“Rhysand had your things delivered. But I thought you deserved your own space for your craft. I apologize for keeping you away from your things, but I needed time for them to clear out a space for all of it.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed, not yet understanding what he was telling her. 

But Eris was already opening the door. 

He gestured for her to go in first. 

The room gave a green glow from the morning sun coming through the mostly emerald, stained-glass windows and ceiling. The walls were covered in dark and rich wood paneling. But the floor was a dark tile with an intricate design, clearly made to be an easy cleanup. 

Her plants and herbs had been transported here from her store in Velaris, along with the rest of her supplies. It was stored in the countless wooden cabinets. But there seemed to be countless new things provided to her, as well. 

Eris stood back, watching Y/N take in the room. 

“If it is not to your liking, you may change anything you wish.” Did he sound nervous? “Just say the word.”

“It…It’s b-beautiful,” Y/N managed to whisper as her wide eyes still took it all in. 

Eris cleared his throat awkwardly. “Will it suffice?” 

She blinked “Suffice?”

He stepped closer to her, his hands clasped behind his back. “Potions, casting, research – anything that your craft requires…”

All she could bring herself to do was nod with enthusiasm.

Then she turned to fully face him, putting her back to the room. Her eyes were glazed over in tears. But she refused to embarrass herself by crying in front of him.

“E-Eris…t-thank you,” she breathed. 

“It is the least I can do after keeping you here,” he answered as he look at the ground. 

Y/N stepped toward him. 

The closeness made Eris’ head snap up to look at her. 

“Would you do such things for me…if I was not…” She hesitated. “If I was not your mate?”

The question was like a slap, and Y/N saw it on his face.  

Eris’ nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. 

“I am not entirely sure what you are asking,” he finally admitted after a moment.

His answer only seemed to put even more distance between them. Y/N’s posture collapsed slightly as she shook her head. 

“Forget it,” she mumbled. “Thank you for this.”  

“No,” Eris defended firmly. “Tell me what you mean by asking such things.” 

Y/N wanted to run. Run from the room. Run from Eris. Run from this bond. 

But the guilt at doing so after he just gifted her such a room was what made her frozen in place. 

“Sometimes I wonder…” she muttered. 

“Yes,” he encouraged her. 

She lifted her gaze to him. “Sometimes I wonder if you only do these things because you think it is what is required of you…since I am your mate.” 

Eris brow rose as he slowly understood what she was trying to communicate. “As opposed to what? Doing them because I want to?” 

She shrugged. “I guess.” 

“You think I only gift you such things because of the bond?” Eris asked. “As if it forces me to perform such acts?” 

Y/N just nodded her head, but her hypothesis was clearly holding firm. 

Eris took in a deep breath and stepped to Y/N until their chests were almost touching. “It seems that I need to clarify something, Y/N.” 

And Y/N heart raced at his tone alone. 

“I shower you with gifts because I wish to. Because it makes my heart race to see your eyes light up from it. I am not hypnotized by our mating bond to do anything. The Cauldron works in mysterious ways, yes. But I have known many males who have ignored their mates entirely, some who even abused them. So, no… the bond forces me to do nothing. I only enjoy making you happy.” He stared into her eyes before finishing with, “Do you understand?” 

Y/N nodded because she didn’t trust herself with words after such a confession.

Eris then hung his head in shame before adding, “Perhaps once day I will be able to express how I feel through words, instead of using gifts to tell you.” 

“And why won’t you try now?” 

Eris frowned as he raised his head. “Because it would be the thing that made you run again. And we both know it.” 

Y/N’s heart was screaming at her to tell him what she was thinking, what haunted her. He deserved to know how she felt about all of this – him, them, the bond. He did so much for her and never ever asked for anything in return. 

But that just meant he deserved to know her feelings even more. 

Y/N took in a shaky breath. “Eris–“

A messenger rushed through the open door. “High Lord, pardon the interruption.”

“What is it?” Eris barked. 

“It’s your brother, Aurelius. He has taken Mycenae.”

——

Y/N was keeping in step with Eris as he rushed to the main court yard. 

“Mycenae is on the Erythrian Sea,” he explained to her. “And its harbors are where the majority of our imports come through. He means to cut off our supplies and hoard them.” 

“But what does he want?”

“Most likely? To kill me.” Eris shrugged. 

Y/N froze. “Eris, that is not funny!”

He stopped to. “And I was not kidding.” 

“How long of a ride is it?”

“We are not riding. We are winnowing. An element of surprise is needed.” Then he gave her a warning look. “And you are not coming with.” 

Suddenly, a gust of wind whipped through all of them, hard enough that Eris had to dig his feet into the ground to stand still.

He looked at Y/N quickly, because it was clear she was listening to something he could not. 

Her eyes widened and the expression she threw at him was desperate. 

“Please, I must go,” she whispered shakily. 

Eris looked around them, making sure his soldiers were at least pretending not to listen to their conversation. 

He moved closer and lowered his voice. “It is not safe, Y/N.” 

“I can look after myself. Plus, I can help, and you know it.”

“Yes, and you can help by looking after the Forest House. This could be a distraction while my brother plans on attacking here, while I am elsewhere.” 

“If he truly means to kill you, he will save the sacking of the Forest House after you’re dead,” Y/N countered harshly. “I have not asked for anything from you, Eris. But I am asking you this: let me go with you. There is something I must do.” 

Eris knew she was right, but he ignored her. 

Just then, one of his commanders winnowed beside them. 

“I can direct you to a safe distance from his forces, High Lord. They are armed and at the ready. He knows you are coming.”  

Eris turned to Y/N. “You stay at my side at all times. Do you understand? And at the first sign of danger, I will be commanding one of my soldiers to winnow you back.” 

She nodded aggressively. 

Then he turned to what appeared to be somewhat of a squire nearby. “Get her some armor.” 

———

The Autumn Court army stood ready to winnow together. Those who did not have the ability clustered to High Fae who did. It was not all of the court’s forces, but Y/N knew not to underestimate the small portion of it they did have. 

Both Eris and Y/N had on armor. A squire had found an old female set and hurriedly helped Y/N into with a bit of privacy. It was a little big at some parts, but it would do. 

“We will get your own made,” Eris had noted when he saw her step out. 

Now, Eris held Y/N’s hand tightly. He looked down at her, silently asking her to change her mind about coming. 

But her only response was to squeeze his hand. 

Then they were somewhere else. 

As soon as Y/N was aware of her surroundings, her eyes narrowed into a glare.

“I wondered when you would finally grace us with your presence,” someone called out from in the woods. The trees were not that close together, but the fog made it only possible to see the rough outline of a small army in the distance. 

“Come out, Aurelius!” Eris called out. “Before you get all your fools killed.” 

Y/N took a half step forward. He looked down to see that her eyes had turned that glowing white once again. Slowly raising her hands up from her sides, Eris felt the magic radiating off of her. 

Slowly the fog before them disappeared, exposing their enemy. 

But just as it did, someone in the distance yelled, “Fire!” 

Two hundred arrows launched into the air, aiming straight for them. 

Eris shoved Y/N behind him, using his own body as her shield.

But it was pointless, for her wind had already rushed from the side and tossed the arrows into a frenzy that they never got even close to them. 

Anger overtook him now. 

They dare fire on their High Lord and his mate? 

Now…they would regret it. 

With a growl, Eris launched himself forward. With just a few wave of his hands, a wall of fire thirty yards high and fifty yards across flew towards their enemy, leaving no holes for escape. 

It hit them within seconds of releasing. And cries of pain and horror were the only thing that proved the attack had been successful. 

But not everyone had been taken out. There would be some who wielded enough power to shield themselves or use their own abilities to counter the fire. 

Eris looked at his commander. “Bring my brother to me alive. The rest can die.” 

With that, his soldiers charged into the trees. 

Y/N did as Eris asked, staying near his side. Though she used her bow to shoot down the enemy from a safe distance. Eris used his magic to take down hoards of his brother’s army. He would’ve stepped into the frenzy if he were not worried about taking Y/N with him. 

The battle only lasted 20 minutes or so before Eris had had enough. This killing was pointless and his brother was a coward for letting others fight such a battle for him. 

With the clap of Eris’ hands, he erupted a wall of fire from the ground and it separated his men from the enemy. The rest of his brother’s rebels, who were behind enemy lines, were killed by Eris’ army. 

Y/N strapped her bow behind her back and unsheathed her sword as she followed Eris toward the wall. 

Through the flames, he caught sight of his brother. Y/N had to stand further back due to the burning heat of the fire wall. 

As soon as Eris locked eyes with Aurelius, the wall collapsed. 

A whip of fire lashed out, wrapping around Aurelius and dragging him toward Eris as his skin was scorched from the flames.

The pulling only stopped when he was on his knees before his High Lord and brother. 

Y/N took in the new Vanserra brother. Perhaps he was once handsome, but the bitterness has made his frown deeper and his face harder. He shared that infamous red hair with his brothers. But the kindness in Lucien and Eris’ eyes was missing. Despite all her efforts, Leonora could not save all of her sons from Beron poisoning their souls.  

“You’re a fool, Aurelius.” Eris hissed. “Did you believe you stood a chance?” 

But Aurelius wasn’t looking at his brother. He was looking at Y/N. 

“Brought your witch whore, did you?” 

With the slander, fifty bows knocked an arrow and aimed at Aurelius. To insult their High Lord’s mate was to insult their entire court. 

Y/N only glared at him in return, not even blinking at the comment. 

Eris launched forward, punching Aurelius so hard across the face that teeth flew out of his mouth.

He grabbed Aurelius by the neck in a death grip. “You dare to even look at her! Try to again, and I will rip out your eyeballs, so you never can.” 

Aurelius was smart enough to show fear and regret now. But he wasn’t done taunting his brother yet. 

“Does she know?” He rasped as the whip of fire tightened. “Does she know that she is bonded to a monster?”

“I did what I had to in order to survive Beron,” Eris hissed. “The difference between you and me is that mine was a mask. But you…no, you took it all to heart and let our father ruin you.”

Aurelius laughed in his face. “Oh, is that what you think? You truly believe you are so much better than the rest of us?” 

Eris had a look of hesitation. 

“You hunted down countless innocents, same as us. You may not have killed Lucien’s lover, but you watched as it happened and did nothing. You watched our mother get beaten and raped for centuries. And you stopped none of it. And do you know why?” He leaned toward Eris as much as he could. “Because you are weak, Eris. You were a weak general and now…now you will be a weak High Lord.”

Fire lit in Eris’ gaze at the words. 

He let out a snarl and hemisphere of fire erupted from him, taking out any survivors of Aurelius’ rebellion that still lingered behind their pathetic leader.

Their bodies lit on fire and they screamed their lungs out until there was nothing more to feel. 

Aurelius smiled up at his brother. “And your precious mate will figure it out soon, too. You thought you could have everything you ever wanted. And you are a fool for it.” 

Eris unsheathed his sword and lifted it into the air. 

“Eris!” Y/N screamed.

To her surprise, he froze. 

Eris didn’t look at her, but she knew he was waiting for her to speak. 

“Don’t. It is what he wants: to drag you down to his level.” 

“He did not hesitate to hunt down and try to kill Lucien,” Eris argued while he kept his eyes on his brother. “He wished to kill me today.” 

“Let him rot in the dungeons,” she told him softly. 

Eris let his sword finally drop, but glared down at his brother. “Never forget the reason you are alive is due to my mate... and out of respect for our mother.” 

Then he shoved his sword into Aurelius’ gut. Being fae, he would survive easily – but not without tremendous pain. 

“That was for calling my mate a whore,” Eris whispered in his ear before landing a punch so hard across Aurlius’ face that it rendered him unconscious. 

“Cuff him with faebane,” Eris commanded to his soldiers. 

Then he turned to his mate, half expecting her to look at him differently – with fear and disgust. But she was only weary, trying to figure out if she should give him space or not. 

When his face softened from their eyes locking, Y/N let out a breath she was holding. 

“I-I must got into the city,” she urged him softly. 

He didn’t like the sound of that. “What for?”

“There are humans who need my help.” Scared that he would refuse her, she added a desperate, “Please.” 

Eris called over one of his commanders and requested an escort for them to march forward and enter the city of Mycenae. 

“My brother may be captured, but his followers most likely still linger in the city. Stay close to me,” Eris warned her quietly. 

As soon as they were within the city limits, Y/N pointed. “Follow the wind.” 

Before he could ask for her to clarify, he saw any objects hanging from walls or rooftops showing a clear path for them. 

Y/N unsheathed her sword once more and rushed to follow the wind. 

A few minutes later, they were stopped at a decrepit house. 

Y/N looked up at Eris. “They’re in there.” 

He stepped forward. “Come out now unarmed and we will spare your lives.” 

There was a moment of tense silence. 

But to Y/N’s surprise, a dozen males slowly came out of the house. 

With the flick of his hand, Eris wrapped a chain of fire around the group and pulled them roughly to their knees. They groaned in pain as the flames burned their skin and clothes. 

“Stay here,” Y/N whispered just before rushing past them to move into the house. 

He wanted to ignore her demand and follow after her. But he stayed in place. 

A few minutes later, Y/N came charging back out. 

And within the same moment, she slid her sword across the neck of the nearest male. Then she slit the throat of the one next to him. And finally, she jabbed the sword into the gut of a third.

Eris saw that tears stained her cheeks. 

“Are there any others?” She growled at the other male faes who still lived. 

They looked at her with fear in their eyes, knowing there would be no saving themselves. 

“N-No…that was all we f-f-found,” one of them managed to stutter. 

Y/N looked over to Eris with utter heartbreak in her eyes. She didn’t need to tell Eris what she found in that house. He already knew. 

Waiting for Y/N to step away and move to his side, Eris then snapped his fingers and fire lit beneath the males. 

Their screams of agony filled the air. 

Neither Y/N nor Eris looked away as the males slowly burned to their deaths. 

It was only when the sounds had stopped that she turned away. 

“We need blankets,” she told her mate softly. “Many of them are without clothes. And perhaps your male soldiers should…keep their distance.” 

When Y/N had first arrived to the Night Court, Rhysand had sent Azriel and Cassian on a search for the rest of the humans that had been captured alongside Y/N.

None were ever found. 

But today Y/N had discovered half of that same group – women and children. Aurelius had gifted the humans to his rebels, as if their were objects to play with. 

One of his commanders seemed to already have read the situation, because he instantly handed Y/N a pile of blankets. 

“Let me know if you need more,” the male said softly. “There is a group of female soldiers who volunteered to winnow them back to the Forest House to be tended to.” 

Y/N nodded her thanks and took the piles of blankets, disappearing back into the house to try and coax the victims out of the hell they’d been imprisoned in for months and months. 

Eris turned back to the commander. “Warn the staff at the house to prepare rooms and food for them. And alert the healers.” 

––––––––

OK. So thinks got a wee bit dark LOLOLOLOL.

[eldritch-spouse]

>:]

Think about Belo jacking off and moaning your name, only to get walked in on by his deity, before they ever even did something sexual.

Fluff boy must be panicked, not to worry tho, you are far more benevelont than his former masters. Why, you might even help your loyal servant.

[Doing something really short because I think it's cute. Fem reader.]

TW: Unhealthy glorification, cultish mindsets.

Belo is weird.

You know that. You've known it since you met the guy. But he's also the only angel you've ever met in your life, so maybe this is just how most of them are, for all you know. Point is, you personally consider him to be very odd.

Even odder still is the way he's latched onto you like a baby koala.

He just... He presented himself to you as if you were a goddess. He called you that even after you tried to specify, oh so many times, that you're just a human! If you doubted it before, then his consistent refusal of your arguments against your own supposed "godhood" make it very clear that his unshakable faith is truly the mark of an angel.

It's bizarre. Everything has been really bizarre so far... But it could be worse. Belo is a very organized, polite and gentle monster. He usually doesn't overstep boundaries and hardly complains about anything. You tell yourself you're not taking advantage of Belo's kindness when you let him handle the house chores or run errands outside, that you're not abusing your influence over him when you seek his guaranteed validation. But sometimes, it feels like you're enabling his erroneous, idealized perception of yourself.

It's hard not to. Worship is almost addicting, lulling, guilt very quickly plays second-fiddle to immense gratification. You know this isn't really healthy, Belo needs help, not enabling-

But at least it's mutual.

It's not just you enjoying the ego-stroking perks of having an angel at your feet, no no. Belo needs you, legitimately. He needs someone to lean onto, the separation anxiety on this monster is scary. It genuinely seems to put the angel at ease when you're around and he can "serve you", and besides, out of all people out there he could swear subservience to, you'd like to think you're not the worst. That maybe he's a bit lucky to have someone moderately normal.

That doesn't mean there aren't some bumps in the road. Oh, there have been a couple alright... One such was finally getting to leave the house by yourself. The amount of mental gymnastics you had to pull to convince Belo that no, no one will try to viciously attack you without him by your side, was monumental. Truly, you're proud of yourself. Teaching him how to figure out a phone probably helped, he knows you'll call him if you need anything.

Nonetheless, it was very liberating to spend an evening away from his stifling attitude. Granted, you spent that evening running more complex errands Belo's out of the loop on, but it was still a breath of fresh air. You like that he's starting to trust you on these matters a bit more, it's better that way. You were ready to come home and shower the angel in praise for not freaking out or calling you every five minutes, though your plans were cut short the moment you arrived.

Usually, you don't even need to call out, Belo will either be stationed by the front door (exactly where he was when you left), or nearby enough to quickly greet you with a bow. This time, the angel is seemingly nowhere to be found. Huh. It's almost weird not to have him here, ready to take the bags off your hands or remove your coat. Shrugging, you drop your belongings by the hall and remove unnecessary layers of clothing. Maybe he's asleep, you've seen him resting every now and then, not too often.

By the time you're ready to call out, a noise startles you. You know that sound, a heavy rush of air caused by none other than the flutter of mighty wings. So he's home, at least that.

Smiling, you stroll down the hall and head straight for the angel's room, which he hardly uses, preferring to nap on your bedroom's armchair at night. "For safety", he argues. The pleasant expression you wear cracks into a wobbly, wide-eyed gawk at what you see past his open door.

It's always been no secret to you that Belo keeps what you can only call an altar in his room. Entirely dedicated to "the light of his life", his goddess and lady, you. You found it to be a tad creepy, and it still irks you a bit, but Belo assures he only intends to be respectful and prove his admiration with it. It's harmles really, a spare desk furnished with various pictures of you, candles, personal trinkets you've long since stopped caring about, one or two folded articles of clothing and a lock of hair you're not sure if he cut off you at some point. It's... Well, at least it's clean? Yeah, glass half full.

That's not the point here.

Belo kneels directly in front of this altar, barren of any and all coverings, his fluffy white fur in full display as massive wings spread and twitch sporadically, flirting with the flames of lit candles not too far away. His back arches and his chest expands with quickened breaths. You don't need to be a scientist to put two and two together, those parted legs, bucking hips and quiet gasps tell you everything you need to know about what Belo's doing. When he moans, this melodious, gorgeously filthy noise, you have no choice but to shiver and heat up.

That's... You've never heard the angel make a vaguely erotic sound, this is all very new.

It's not as if Belo isn't a sexual being, you've seen him get flustered on a myriad of occasions, and you don't miss the stares he sometimes spares you, even if he's extremely apologetic and ashamed whenever he's caught, you know that can only be lust. And, in a way, you understand the poor guy. He doesn't seem like the type who uh, "gets around", in spite of his rather handsome features. You don't mind that he finds you attractive or looks at you longingly, not at all- You've even considered trying to start something intimate with the angel, but he's so... Prone to dramatic outbursts about anything that's "unclean" or "blasphemous" that you fear it might just rupture what the two of you have going on. That's the last thing you want.

So this... This makes you really happy.

If you lean your head just the slightest amount, you can see the frenzied motions of his hand, spot the pale pink appendage between that blur of white, he grips something else with his other one. The more noises Belo makes, the more your own breathing hastens, watching luridly. The little part of you that screams about how disrespectful what you're doing is quiets down as soon as broken words escape the angel. He's clearly saying something, whispering? You edge closer, laying low.

" I love you I love you I love you I love you- A-Ahn- "

Chanting. That's chanting. Too rhythmic and practiced to be a mere murmur. Each stroke accompanied by a mewl of a declaration. The same three words droning on and on like a broken cassette player in complete mania.

" I love you I love you I- I- My goddess- "

Something tells you he's about to finish, and while some pervy side of you would rather sit and enjoy the show, the desire to claim that end for yourself wins. Cheeks burning, stance wobbly, you carefully inch your way behind the distracted monster, gently smoothing your hands around his tense shoulders.

The reaction is instantaneous.

There's an embarrassing squawk, followed by helpless wing flapping, Belo jolts like a feline and accidentally ends up knocking some items off the altar entirely with his right wing. Oof. At least the candles didn't fall... Not that he looks wounded, just scared. Very scared, if shrunk pupils floating in a sea of lavender have anything to say. Those three eyes contain all the panic the world could ever hold, his body shakes slightly and only after a couple seconds does he have the wherewithal to cover his shame.

Too late, you already got an eyeful of that pretty pink cock, slick and heavy between furred legs.

Something clatters to the ground. A pendant. Your pendant. Probably one of the first things you gave Belo when you caught him touching your jewelry. It's quite simple, just an elegant golden feather. That's what he was grabbing? You'd expect something like a pair of used panties. It's almost heartwarming, in an unexpected way.

He can't seem to spit out a word, or maybe he's genuinely panicking, one thing's for sure, you won't let him enter a babbling fit.

" Belo. I'm not mad, it's okay. "

It doesn't look like he buys it, blinking erratically. " B- M-My lady? "

You think about the type of language he uses when referring to you, what makes him comfortable. A soft smile sits on your face when you start reaching for the buttons of your shirt.

" You know, there's a lot of ways you can worship me, Belo... "

His shuddering is delightful.

[lawqual1ty]

Them or us (HTTYD AU!Zoro x Reader)

Pov: Two years ago you have convinced your village to form peace with their deadly enemies, the dragons... This helped out with your relationship with your former rival (and crush) Zoro

This is based on how to train your dragon so hope you like it!

Warning: Mainly fluff so there's not much, dragons(?), falling, swords

"It's either them or us... You've got to chose in which side you are..."

It's hard to believe that was 2 years ago... How he stared so angrily at you as he spoke with clear frustration, he was obviously mad about your attitude... How you were so weak... Or at least in his eyes...

Back then he was totally against you and your ideals...

And now... Well...

"SHIT!"

He fell down from his dragon landing on the grass with his sword falling down right behind him much to his panic, luckily his dragon took his leg and moved him away from what would have been an imminent slash through his head, resulting in the sword landing just above his head onto the grass...

He was still so... Sloppy.

It frustrated him, although it was kinda ironic, at first he wanted to punch you in the face for the mere idea of being allies with dragons, but once you took him flying with you on your newfound friend... He couldn't help but feel that spark he was lacking all his life.

Now there he was... Trying to master the art of riding a dragon and fighting, trying to catch up to your experience, after all starting later on could prove to be a bit of a struggle. He quickly sat up brushing away a few grass strands that had fallen on his green hair thanks to his sloppy performance, Kui was staring at him as he tried to dust himself off of his previous fall, an angry frown on his face.

He took a deep breath, slowly standing up from the ground, placing his hands on his waist... He was deep in thought, trying his best to remember each and every step he took earlier so he could find where he had done a mistake that made him fall over so ridiculously... He glanced over at Kui finding himself with her piercing yellow eyes, he chuckled.

"You'll still train with me right?" The dragon wagged its tail in agreement, although he didn't understand dragons as well as you did he sure got an understanding of his own dragon, maybe it helped that Kui was sort of transparent.

He heard a howling noise in the air, both Kui and him looked around, a soft grin appeared on his lips... Of course you had found him.

"Roronoa!" You yelled out landing in front of him with your night fury "So this is where you went"

You jumped down from your dragon giving him the signal that he could wonder around, he wagged his tail winning the attention of Kui who happily ran towards the night fury to play, you laughed at the scene before facing Zoro.

"Now... why exactly did you run away Zoro?" You asked softly, approaching him with a steady step your face covered by a helmet, He just chuckled as he turned around to look at the sky.

"Got bored"

"Got bored? Jeez is that your only excuse?"

You walked up to him slowly taking out your helmet, your face coming into view with a soft exhale escaping your lips, you gently brushed your hair trying to fix it as best as you could, he couldn't help but stare in awe at the sight, you were so effortlessly dashing... It always impressed him.

"At least you could have warn us y'know? Nami almost hit me when I told her I haven't seen you before the game of today" you let out a soft chuckle "You know she considers you her gold mine when it comes to betting"

He sighed with a smile, of course Nami was mad of him not being at the game he was sort of a natural when it came to the sheep hunting game although he could get easily lost most of the time if it wasn't for your help in some occasions.

You took a seat on the grass, taking a deep breath as you looked out the horizon

"At least you got lost in a place with a nice view"

"Oi... I didn't get lost"

You huffed "Yeah right... As if ending up like 2,000 meters away from the village isn't getting lost"

"It's just my usual place to train"

"Oh really?" You turned to face him with a challenging smirk "How do you get back to the village then?"

He took a seat next to you, silence surrounding the two of you together with the sounds of your two dragons playing as he thought of an answer. He turned around to where you came from.

"That way..."

You laughed out loud "You just knew because that's where I came from!"

"No I didn't... I knew it all the time"

"Stubborn as a grunkhold"

He huffed, trying his best to hide a small smile that hovered over his lips. It was quite weird thinking that two years ago he didn't even want to acknowledge your existence, as much as he noticed you he didn't believe you were worthwhile, he was focused on his grind, his skills, he didn't have time to focus on some smart little kid...

But that all changed in such little time. All he needed was to wonder around on his own account (He was lost but he didn't seem to notice let alone want to admit it) and he suddenly found out about your little secret with a certain dragon that now was... Well...

"HOLY SHIT! ORION!!"

Out of the blue you were knocked out thanks to your dragon: Orion, a majestic night fury that was now playing like it was tiny dog. He laughed as he saw you stand up and try to fight off your dragon in a playful manner launching yourself against him as his own dragon (Kui) made its way to him now the two of them witnessed the scene of you an Orion play fighting.

Zoro couldn't help but laugh as he watched you imminently lose against Orion and plop down on the ground, after all none of you were fighting seriously so not much strength was used, you laughed as Orion licked you almost making you drown in saliva.

"That's gross Y/N" you laughed softly "Hey don't tell me you don't play like this with Kui!"

He chuckled "Don't have much time to play..."

"No wonder she plays with me then..."

Your teasing was something that amused him, although you were technically right... He stared at you as you laid in the ground with a relieved breath making your chest rise up and down, the moment was quite surreal to him... He had gotten so used to your presence now, it was surprising for him to imagine he used to live without you next to him like this... even as you were his rival in some way. He was never distracted by your presence... He just wondered how long could he have lived on without knowing he could get this level of peace with you? His other reason to keep improving besides his best friend...

He was taken off his trance by a light chuckle coming from you "You're burning holes in my scalp Roronoa..."

Much to his pride he felt his cheeks flush, why was he acting like a teenager? He was a fucking viking for Odin's sake... He quickly turned around closing his eyes, seeing his reaction you stood up from the ground and approached him once more, plopping yourself down next to him, a silent but intimate movement that Zoro appreciated more than what he's willing to admit.

"We should get back soon y'know?" Your voice came out merely as a whisper

"I know..." He huskily responded giving no signs of moving as even Kui snuggled closer to him, you pouted at the sight.

"Your dad ain't gonna be happy..."

He huffed, of course you knew where to hit him... He slowly opened his eyes facing you once more with those dark eyes you've grown so acostumed to... The orange hues of the setting sun added more depth to his usual serious gaze, it made it seem warmer somehow. It was hard to believe that his gaze used to make you freeze a few years prior but now... You smiled warmly before standing up with a light jump, making Orion jolt up as he realized it was time to go.

None of you said nothing as you finally got each into their corresponding dragons much to Zoro's annoyance, you smirked at him a silent way of challenging him... This somehow made his bad mood vanish into a cocky smirk.

"Sure you can handle?"

"Oh, I sure can"

You quickly fell down from the island with your night fury much to Zoro's surprise, he looked down only to be surprised by you flying up once more with great speed and a cheerful yell coming from you.

He rolled his eyes with amusement "Show off..."

And with those words he patted Kui's back of the head, taking a steady hold of his dragon before jumping down with it following you rapidly the two of you starting your race to get back home with excitement.

He wasn't going to go easy on you...

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Oh Rafael my precious boy! I will buy him everything he wants and most importantly: make a nest on the sofa, cuddle him all he wants and watch movies with him all day and buy his favourite snacks🥺

He deserves the woooooorld😭

How is he doing these days?🥹❤️

Oh, Raf is fine these days, but remember when he wasn't-

CW: Takes place when Rafael was at his first safehouse. Soooooo much casual slut shaming here, people. So... so much angst.

They go quiet when he comes back, the group of three sitting at the kitchen table. Rafael feels their eyes on him like lit matches on the tips of his fingers and he hunches his shoulders, arms crossed in front of him. His backpack is lighter than when he left, and he wonders if anyone ever pays enough attention to notice.

"Holy cow, I didn't even know he was gone," A former Domestic, Freddie, says with a slightly nervous, airy laugh. Her voice is a whisper that isn't quite quiet enough, but Raf pretends he can't hear it anyway as he slips his shoes off to leave on the little rug by the door.

"That's what they do," Another says - Sam, or Sal, or something else Raf can't quite remember. His voice sounds like he must be rolling his eyes, but Raf refuses to look and see if he is or not. "They sneak around like that, they teach them in training. I saw one getting his feet whipped because he walked too loud once."

"Gross. That-... that sounds awful." Raf blinks, surprised at the hint of sympathy, and glances over to see Freddie shiver.

"Honestly, he probably liked it. They love that stuff, that's why they get picked for it. They're just like that already. I heard they have to talk about their-" Sal lowers his voice, but it still carries. "-their kinks with their handlers when they sign up."

Rafael's face burns as he moves to walk past the doorway. His handler never asked him what he liked or didn't like. His handler had told him outright it didn't matter and the person he was before didn't exist any longer. He, if he wanted to be good, would learn to want what his master or mistress wanted, there was no such thing as having a desire of his own. Did they not know that?

It was warm outside, and he'd been sweaty on the bus in his black sweater and pants with the sun beating down and heating them up, but now he shivers from a chill that lives entirely under his skin.

They know. They don't care. The idea that he wanted it all is easier, and... he must have, right? Or he wouldn't have ended up like this.

"Hey." The third one speaks up, waving to get his attention. "Uh... Romantic. What was your name again?"

Raf pauses, turning to look instinctively, meeting three pairs of flat, hostile eyes in flat, hostile faces. Mr. Martin swears they'll warm up to him, but they never have. Maybe no one ever will. Even Mr. Martin treats him like there's slime on his skin, especially when he said he didn't want to change his name. "It's Rafael. Yeah?"

Vex, that's what the third one calls himself. Raf remembers that, because he'd told Rafael once it was because he hoped him running pissed off the people he'd run from. Rafael had thought he was sharing as a way to break the ice, but then Vex had never spoken to him again. Until now.

Vex's eyes narrow. "Where do you keep going all the time?"

His heart stops, panic sparking like torn wires in his nerves, but Rafael knows how to be terrified and never show it. He only smiles, perfect and pretty, his good-pet-grin. "The library. I'm trying to learn how to read again."

His voice comes out smoothly sincere. He's a good liar. All Romantics are incredible liars. That's what everyone says, anyway. And Raf is pretty good at it.

"Huh." Vex shares a look with the others that Raf can't quite read, and his prickling unease keeps rising. "You never come to our group lessons, though."

Rafael has an answer prepped for this. He shrugs, unbothered. "You said it wasn't comfortable for you when I did."

Vex frowns, thoughtful, some of his prickling hostility fading. To Rafael's shock, he looks... almost guilty. "... Oh. Yeah. I forgot we told Mr. Martin that."

"You kept sitting with your legs open," Freddie says, voice slightly uneven. "And... sitting too close."

"... I know. Again, i'm-... sorry, I am, I didn't even know-... No one told me until Mr. Martin said you told him-"

"Whatever." Vex snorts. "Let's talk about the library. You're spending, like, hours over there."

"Well... It's not just learning to read." His heart isn't pounding in his throat at all, he can't feel his fingers trembling until he hides them in his pockets. He doesn't even flush when he realizes in a spike of shame that there's an empty condom package still in there. He forgot to throw it away before he got back. It crinkles and he has to fight not to widen his eyes. The sound feels impossibly loud.

It must not carry. None of them seem to notice.

Freddie nudges Sal with her elbow. "Told you so. He's fucking somebody."

Sal sighs. "I didn't argue with you, Fred."

Vex's eyebrow raises. "That's against the rules. Mr. Martin says no inappropriate relations inside or outside the house. Especially sex ones. You'll get kicked out for that."

"I'm not sleeping with anyone," Rafael lies without even batting an eyelash. "You can have Mr. Martin check my phone, I'm at the library the whole time."

The phone is, anyway. He leaves it there, most of the time, in a hiding spot inside a conference room nobody ever uses, before he meets one of the other Romantics who work on the street and goes back to the apartment and the warmth of their arms and the familiar slick slide of their bodies against his. Sometimes he has money to pay, sometimes he doesn't, but they open the door even when he has nothing but his body to offer.

Sometimes they just hold him, and it's enough to make him feel human again, for a while, anyway.

Vex looks at him, then away. "Whatever. As long as you're a creep somewhere else, who cares what you do?"

Raf swallows. His throat feels too small for the air he has to breathe. "You can ask Mr. Martin-" He starts again, catches his voice wobbling and fights hard to keep it steady, falsely confident.

"I'm not a snitch," Vex interrupts, snapping the words angrily. Raf catches himself backing up instinctively to avoid anyone who might be angry getting close enough to hurt him for it. "None of us are. We aren't Romantics like you."

"Yeah, we're not the ones who go tell the owners whatever gets them more dick and called a good boy," Sal sneers. Freddie just looks worried and a little scared of them all. Raf's face burns bright red.

"I-... I don't-"

He does, though. Sort of. Rei, his second-favorite of the others he finds on the streets who understand him, calls him that at the end. Raf likes it and Rei likes to play good and gentle owner with happy pet, using a soft voice that warms Raf inside and out with the idea of anyone ever saying it without the edge of humiliation or danger his own master and mistress held.

Sometimes just hearing it so sweet like that can have him coming in a flash or crying and the feeling is almost the same.

"It's-" Raf's voice finally cracks, and he clears his throat. He can't look them in the eyes any longer. "It's against the rules to use unkind language to each, each other-"

"It sure is." Sal snorts, derisive. Disgusted with him. "Gonna go tell Mr. Martin we were mean, Romantic?"

"My name is Raf-"

"We don't care. Look, you tell Mr. Martin we were big meanie-faces and hurt your delicate little slut feelings, then maybe we tell Mr. Martin that you're definitely not spending all that time just learning to read."

Rafael's heart beats so fast he feels like he's trying to outrun his own body. "No, I, I am-"

"We just said we don't care. Just... go somewhere else." Vex waves his hand, and Rafael turns on his heel and tries not to move like the beaten animal he is as he goes back to the room he stays in, alone, where he lays awake all night in a bed where there is no one to hold him.

How they talk to him would hurt less if it wasn't true.

He is sneaking off to find sex, the comfort he isn't allowed to have, the only touch anyone ever gives him. He does sit too close, and not know how to stand or sit in ways that aren't a wordless invitation. He does lie, over and over and over again.

He breaks all the rules and he can't seem to stop.

But... it's only because he's so lonely he could scream until his throat bleeds if he has to live where no one will touch him.

Rafael throws his backpack across the room, slamming his door so hard the frame rattles and hearing Mr. Martin's muffled no slammed doors, please! from somewhere else within the house.

Another broken rule.

Rafael collapses onto his bed, curling up on his side, pulling out the plastic feather he carries everywhere he goes. Rubbing his fingers over the texture helps remind him - the guy who gave him the feather thought he could do this. Believed in him.

Had said, somebody loved you, and really, really meant it.

Even if someone had, Raf thinks, they probably couldn't love him now. Not this version of him, anyway. And the guy, who had been gorgeous and had been one like him, definitely... He didn't really know Raf at all. No one does.

But everyone here thinks they don't need to talk to him at all to already know everything they needed to in order to judge him as worthless.

Their judgments would feel less like damnation if he didn't think so, too.

He'd only ever been worth what his body could do for the ones who put the collar around his neck. That hasn't changed at all. He just has no collar and no one to care for him now. No one who cares about him. His handler was right. He's only ever going to be wanted for one thing.

If it weren't for the feather and the memory of the man in the museum believing he deserves to be free, he'd walk outside right now and turn himself in.

Go back to his master and mistress, to a home that isn't home but at least there they cared enough to touch him.

At least there he had been lonely without being alone.