#and I know Mass is more than just how you feel. and that it matters that I am there where God calls me to be

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard- Chapter 7: Trust

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

cw: dark themes, *pls read at your own discretion*

word count: 3.8k (everything in italics is a flashback)

[<<<< chapter 6]

You still feel the faintest tremble in your fingers, your cheeks ruddy from the cold night air that breezes over your skin and through your hair. The world seems so bright, even in the darkness- like you could see every wonderful, beautiful thing in a way you simply couldn’t before. Like you were lighter than the winds, and higher than the sky. You feel like you could be flying.

And if you had known just how good being dead feels, you certainly wouldn’t have waited so long-

+++

“What?!”

Simon places a finger over his lips, silently shushing you; and you know better, immediately regretting the outburst, no matter the shock that lingers in your system, discretion was still paramount—

Your clandestine meetings had been growing more frequent; waiting for the moment he would be relieved for the night and your handmaids had flitted away to their own rooms, their own lives- so that you could slip behind the heavy wool tapestry that now hangs over the entrance to the tunnels.

You always meet in the same spot, making your way to the small adjoined alcove where you would find him waiting- either toying with his daggers or simply staring ahead, lost in thoughts you so desperately wished to hear until he heard your muffled footsteps, the sound of fabric rustling, that alerted him to your presence.

He would usually still be in his armor, his helmet sat carefully to the side- but this night, well, you couldn’t help but to admire the way he looks for a bit longer than you’re proud of.

Instead of black steel, he was covered in warm linens and rich leathers, still dark in nature, with a riding cloak over his shoulders and most of his face concealed under a heavy cowl. But when he saw you, you could see how his whole demeanor shifted. You watched his shoulders relax and the tension bleed away from his expression- watched his eyes flicker and glow in the candle light as he reached out for you, pulling you into his arms just as he did nearly every night now-

But, you weren’t in his arms anymore, no, you were pacing fervently- one hand propped on your hip and the other tangled in your hair,

“Simon, are you sure? I mean- this- this is ludicrous-”, your voice is quiet again, but each word feels labored and breathless, your lungs unable to fill themselves properly, “What you’re suggesting-”

Tentatively, he steps forward, capturing your arm easily, your name spoken so softly, in a way that conveys patience and gentility while still demanding your attention, “Breathe, My Queen.. C’mere-”

He wraps you into a tight hug, letting you bury your face in his tunic, and gods- the way his scent fills your senses, his overwhelming heat, the mass of his arms caging you in, protecting you from yourself. And when he speaks again, you lean in even more just to feel the baritone reverberate through is chest and right into yours,

“There is no other way.” Simon starts, “None that would assure that they’ll never come searchin’ for you.”

The moment he feels your breathing settle to an acceptable rate, he steps back, but only far enough to frame your face in his hands- those damned eyes prying you open; not in a destructive way, no, but in a way that reassures you, that tells you he can see your trepidation, your apprehension. A look that tells you he only wishes to open you up so that he might take them all away, let your burdens rest on his shoulders-

“Do you trust me?”

Your answer comes without pause, because it’s not one you have to give a second thought to as you turn to kiss the inside of his palm, your lips brushing against the rough skin, “Of course.”

And there must be something about the conviction in your voice, or the sincerity beaming in your eyes, because Simon sweeps you into a burning kiss so suddenly, your mind has to catch up to your body as you pull yourself closer to him- enjoying how exposed the feel of his torso is to you in these thinner layers. You swear you can feel the delicious bulk of his muscle flexing against you, your hands venturing over the breadth of his chest, reveling in how it heaves with each breath.

“I want you..” You whine into his mouth, your back now pressed into the frigid stone wall, one of his hands still tenderly cupping your jaw as the other holds your waist.

Most every meeting you have with him of late devolves into this; into feverish kisses and eager touches, you know he craves you just as much you hunger for him- more than that, you yearned for him. But, no matter what you do, or how far it goes, his self-control and willpower seem to far surpass your own, and it always ends with him holding you still- pressing sweet kisses against your forehead and your hair, his voice so kind and soft that it could bring tears to your eyes,

“I know, sweet girl..” He whispers, still kissing you, though you feel his hands tensing- ready to put a halt to it if he feels even the slightest slip in his control, “You already have me- m’yours. Only yours. But not like this-”

This time when you whimper out his name, fighting vainly to push his hand lower, your aching core so desperate for his touch, he groans; it’s a low, gravelly noise, his lips pulling up into something resembling a snarl just before you watch his head roll back.

He pulls in a deep, drawn out breath, inhaling through his nose and exhaling just the same- once, and twice. And you realize now, just how close he had let himself get to breaking his own self-enforced oath if he was having to fight it this hard.

Taking one more deep breath, he finally meets your eyes again, moving slowly and cautiously to tuck a stray bit of hair behind your ear. You let him fawn over you for a moment, your head tilted back to rest against the wall and your own gaze nearly as dark as his,

“No. You deserve more than this, love..”, he traces your bottom lip, eyes focused on the plump, pink skin there before flitting up, “When I have you, I don’t want it to be in some dark, musty tunnel.”, he pauses again, tilting his head to the side, “And I won’t have our first time be tainted by the memory of another man’s bed-”

Your breath shudders when Simon leans in again, nuzzling gently against your cheek- the tip of his nose grazing over the flush peak before he plants a kiss in the same spot, speaking again as he repeats the motion,

“No, little queen.. I want to take my time with you. I want to taste every part of you, starting here-”, a sharp gasp fills the void around you at the sensation of his tongue just above your pulse point, still hot and wet when he kisses it with a smirk on his lips, “and here..”

He gently pushes your hair out of the way, exposing your shoulder so that he could mirror the action there as well, drawing yet another breathy little whine from you,

“Stop it, you insufferable brute..” You speak the words through clenched teeth, and yet, your hands pushing down on his shoulders give an entirely different story- but he does stop, standing again to tower over you, completely unfazed by the daggers in your eyes.

And the cocky grin on his lips turns into something much warmer, his eyes not so ravenous anymore, “Believe me,” he savors your name, letting it sit in the air between you before continuing, “when I say I intend to replace every memory of him, or anyone else, I mean it. I want to show you what it’s supposed to feel like, in every way.”

+++

You pull back on the reins to come to a stop at Simon’s side. The horses’ breaths are hard and fast, much like your own, a cloudy mist of hot air dissipating as fast as it comes with each heavy snort. The castle is far below you now, just a speck in the distance, the valley it’s settled in perfectly illuminated under the dazzling full moon,

“Still think we have ‘til mornin’?” Johnny’s voice breaks the silence, his red stallion giving a tired chuff as it hooves at the cold dirt below.

Simon turns back to answer with a shrug- though his eyes land on you first, searching for your nod of approval before glancing to where the Scot waits, “Should. But, we won’t stop yet, the horses can go for a bit longer-”

You dig your heel in just enough to prompt your mare forward. The dark beast is familiar to you- chosen because she’s one of the fastest the king owns, owned, and it shows as you quickly catch up to Simon, taking your place just on his right flank, with Johnny bringing up the rear.

The plan was to ride as far as the horses could go, hopefully putting you outside of the borders of the kingdom before the alarm is raised, before whatever poor soul unwittingly discovers your treacherous crimes-

No.. don’t think like that. It had to be done.

Against the wind, you focus on Simon’s hulking form before turning your head long enough to catch Johnny’s eye. And you hate how sad he still looks, hate the grim set of his lips, and the consistent knit in his brow- there’s been no bright smiles this time, no boisterous banter, or snarky quips. He was still angry with you, and yet, he couldn’t stop watching you like you might vanish if he blinked too long.

But, you don’t blame him. How could you-

+++

Tap-tap … Tap-tap-tap

The world comes into focus again at the sound of your guard’s beckoning- you’re back in the Grand Hall, sitting on the throne, the weight of your crown perched on your head pulls uncomfortably at your scalp as the man in front of you rambles on and on. Something about the year’s bountiful harvest, and you can’t be sure what else, but gods, his voice feels like it grating against your eardrums.

You just can’t be bothered to focus on such trivial things, not when your mind wanders to the promise Simon had made to you- to take you away, to save you. Though, you suppose he’s already saved you in so many ways, more than you could ever make up to him, but you swear to yourself that’ll spend the rest of your life trying-

Hiding the exasperation in your tone, you raise your hand, “Very well, Lord Barclay. Thank you, for your time, and your very thorough survey.”

Simon’s arm is placed under your hand before you’ve even attempted to stand, it’s not an unusual or uncomely gesture, he had done it many times before, but holding onto to him like this now feels too intimate. Because you know how warm his skin is beneath yours, how firm the muscle is under the cold steel and unforgiving leather of his gauntlet-

“Thank you, Ser.” You say evenly, only sparing the most fleeting glance upward to find his eyes already on you.

It sends a shock through your system, and yet, there’s an odd sense of pride that trickles through you as well. Knowing your deception, knowing you can hold him as such, and he can look at you like that, with those around you none the wiser of your indecencies, your unbecoming thoughts-

And it’s only a matter of seconds, from the moment your fingers are settled over his forearm to the time you’re standing, but it’s enough to reignite the ever present burn you feel for him,

“‘Course, My Queen.” Simon bows his head as customary, but just like the first time you met, he doesn’t avert his eyes, and his coy expression does nothing but stoke the flame within you. But, you have a sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and that he quite enjoys playing with fire.

—--

By the time you get back to your rooms, the sun had nearly set, the once brightly lit hallways now glowed warmly with candlelight and the remnants of dusk as you stop outside your door.

Simon opens it for you, ushering you inside before relieving the other guard. He would be there all night tonight, which meant you wouldn’t see him until morning- and while the thought of him still being close, guarding your rooms, is comforting as it always has been; you already find yourself missing his touch, his warmth, and it had only been a week’s time since you got your first taste-

Gods, you’re hopeless. And never have you felt more like a spoiled brat than you do in this moment, giving Simon one last pitiful look before the heavy door clicks shut.

The candles in your entryway were already lit, but you find it odd when you round the corner to see your bedchamber still dark, save for the milky light filtering through the windows. Which is the only reason you see the odd shadow hunched over on your dressing bench, and a strangled sort of gasp lodges itself in your throat when it moves- slowly, at first, lifting its head to face the dim light.

“Johnny?”

You turn to grab the nearest candle stick, not registering how the hot wax splashes onto your hand as you set it down again. But, now that you have it, you’re not sure the light helps or only makes it worse, because now you can see just how disheveled he is- his hair is a mess, from the wind or from him running his hand through it, you don’t know. And his eyes.. he’s looking back at you with a wild gleam, his lips parting as if he might say something before they clamp shut again. The ties on his tunic are loose, the fabric hanging open, exposing the tan skin underneath and small chain hanging around his neck-

“Johnny- I.. What are you doing here?” You step closer, seeing the familiar paper in his hand, his fingers creating wrinkles and indentations from how hard he grips it, like he’s afraid to let go of it, but it almost seems to pain him at the same time.

And you know exactly what it is. It’s your letter, the one you wrote to confess your intentions, your plan to die. A morbid living will-

“Oh, Johnny.. I’m- I sent a raven-”

“Shut up.” He growls, and it stuns you, hearing the anger in his voice directed at you. He moves to stand then, not to get any closer- but to just look at you. Eyes lingering on your crown, and over your face, searching for something you can’t see or understand as he takes a small step forward, his mouth twisted into a thin line and his throat bobbing.

Seeing him like this is unlike anything you’ve felt, you think. Seeing your immutable Johnny on the verge of tears, his usually bright eyes, dark and stormy- your chest feels like it’s cracking open the longer the silence fills the space, until your own tears spill over, staining the rug in perfect little droplets. But what can you say?

‘Oh, I’m sorry you thought I was dead- but surprise! I’m not.’?

What could you possibly say to make it better-

“How dare you..” When he finally speaks, you hear the syrupy rasp in his voice, one tear rolling down his cheek- and then another, tangling in his unkempt facial hair, “You selfish, stupid girl! Why would ye write this? Huh?”

He doesn’t shout, but you can tell it’s taking everything in him not to- the restraint shows in the red flush of his skin and the rigid set in his shoulders, the rage in his eyes as he looks down at you before shoving the letter into your hands. Your own tears haven’t stopped, and you feel frozen in place, wracked with guilt and anguish and frustration,

“I’m sorr-”

Johnny huffs out a sarcastic laugh cutting you off, running a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots,

“I thought you were dead.. DEAD, Sunny. And you’re sorry? That’s all you got?”

It’s the way he waves his hand at you that causes you to flinch, and that terrible frustration blooms into full blown anger when he turns his back on you. You crumple the paper in your hand, forming it into a deformed sort of ball so that you could chuck it as hard as you can, aiming right for the back of his head,

“Selfish? I’m selfish?” You hiss, watching with satisfaction as the paper ball hits its target, bouncing off his head and rolling somewhere you can’t see, “My whole life has been serving others- and I’m the one who’s selfish? How rich coming from you, MacTavish.”

He turns on his heel, a look of heated confusion on his face, “What’s tha’ s’pose to mean? Like I haven’t served? Who do y’think is out there fightin’ your wars, your highness?”

With a short scoff, you turn away from- wiping the moisture from your face and yanking the crown from your head so you can toss it on the bed, “Oh, enough of that! What happened to ‘not a lord or a queen’? Are we not just us, anymore? Is that all you see?”, you gesture back to the crown, “Because that’s not me- that isn’t all I am-”

Just as quickly as it had come, your anger fizzles out, the flashfire smothered with a sadness so deep, so profound, you’re not sure what do with it,

“I was tired, Johnny. Weary, down to my marrow-”, a broken sob tumbles out as you wrap your arms around yourself in a lame attempt to find comfort, “I never meant for it to be selfish, I only thought I was doing a favor. For myself, for you. I can’t explain it..”

You watch his own flame die out with your words, watch the furious glint in his eyes settle- and when he steps forward, you don’t try to stop him, you don’t stop him when he pulls you into his arms, or when he presses a long kiss to the top of your head,

“I know, I know- I’m so sorry.. I dinnae mean a word of it, I know you’re not selfish. Hells, you’re probably the most selfless person I’ve ever known. But, Sunny..”, he pulls your face up, wiping the tears and mucus away, looking down at you with a softness you weren’t expecting, his big hands cupping your cheeks and jaw, “When I- When I thought you were..”

He bites his lip, breathing through the word on his tongue- not wanting to say it out loud anymore than he already had, “I thought I lost you..”

It comes out in a whisper, his eyes, still brimmed with tears, so steady on yours it makes your breath shorten- because he had never looked at you like that, and you had never seen him the way you see him now, had never given a thought to the idea of wanting him to hold you like he is now, wanting him to look at you-

No, no- he’s Johnny. Just Johnny.. Your best friend, you had grown up together, seen every stage of each other- from kids to scrawny pre-teens, awkward teenagers at best, you had both seen the other at their worst. So, why are you so surprised to look at him now, and see how handsome he’s become, how tall he’s gotten, and how well he fills out his clothes-

Stop, just stop- you admonish your own thoughts, he’s still just Johnny.. He’s not Simon.

“I know..”, you say, blinking away the tears and wrapping your hands around his wrists, “But, never again. I promise, Johnny.”

That seems to break his hypnosis, focusing on your words, on the feel of your skin on his- he shakes his head, releasing you gently and clearing his throat, the tension that had been there only moments ago gone dormant, “What changed?”

You glance over your shoulder, looking towards the entryway, wishing you could see Simon for just a second, “Well.. we’re hoping you can help with something.”

“We?”

+++

Simon’s path takes you deep through the forests, and as soon as you reach the river, you follow its meandering trail for the better part of the night- guided by the moon and stars, your trio traverses land that you had never seen, much less touched. And you only wish for a chance to see it in the sun, hear the birds singing, and the breeze rustling through the boughs; watch the water babble and flow, glittering in the sunlight.

But, there is something otherworldly about experiencing it at night. You hadn’t been outside the castle walls after dark, ever, now that you think about it- never mind on horseback.

And never mind the fact that you’re doing it to run away from your life, your identity left behind.. everything you’ve ever known..

So, why aren’t you afraid? Why have you never felt more content, more safe, than you do right now? Through the soreness and discomfort, the adrenaline still teeming in your mind and body, all it takes to settle your thoughts is meeting Simon’s gaze- still so steadfast and assured.

Or feeling Johnny’s calming presence next to you, warm enough to cut through the chill. Even if things aren’t as natural between you as they used to be, you know you could still lean on each other, that he would be there for you, and you for him.

But there’s something about the odd tension that still lingers when he looks at you, like invisible tendrils that bind you, pulling and stretching. But you don’t understand it, you only feel the strain, like a warning or an omen, something threatening to snap. But it won’t just yet.. not now-

Simon comes to a slow stop, you and Johnny following his lead up the high ridge. And faintly, you hear the crashing of waves, the wind picking up wildly as you break the treeline.

The cliffs, ones you had only seen as a child, glow brilliantly in the sunrise. It’s enough to steal your breath, and make your head spin. They had brought you home.

You’re so entranced by the glorious sight in front of you, by the sting of your hair whipping across your chapped cheeks, that the feel of Simon’s hand on your leg almost startles you,

“We’ll stop here for the day.. eat and rest.”

He lifts you from the saddle, keeping his hands stretched over your waist until he’s sure you're steady on your feet, “Are you all right, my queen?”

Johnny watches from your peripheral, meeting your eye for a split second before you answer, a tired smile on your lips,

“I’m not your queen anymore, Simon..”

[chapter 8>>>>]

taglist: @spxctorsslxt @ssc7514

#knight!ghost #call of duty #medieval au #simon riley #simon x reader #lord mactavish #I neeeed them #fic: the queens guard #cod #but make it medieval #simon ghost riley #johnny mactavish #also on ao3

[deadlygronkle]

Ancestors Legacy Chapter 17

The Desert Chapter 7

Word Count: 5444

Ao3 Prev

Warriors awoke to the sound of paws padding against the cool stone floor. The noise should have been quiet and yet like most things now it rang loudly as if it was right next to his head. How anyone was still asleep was beyond him. 

He lifted his head up, careful not to dislodge Wind who was curled up by his side. Looking around, Warriors spotted a familiar golden wolf carefully making his way over to the small spring.

“Time?” Warriors watched as Time flinched, ears pinned back, “What are you doing?”

Time turned towards the Captain, looking mildly embarrassed, “Ah did I wake you up? I was just getting a drink of water, or trying to at least,”

Warriors let out an amused huff, “Everything wakes me up with these ears. The world is  like 20 times louder than it was before,”

“That I can agree on,” Time’s tail wagged slightly as he nodded in Wolfie’s direction, “How he has dealt with this sensitive hearing for so long I’ll never know,”

“You make it sound like he wasn’t always a wolf,” Warriors joked slightly, trying to ignore how Time’s eye widened, as he continued at a whisper, “How are you so sure he is the ‘Wolfie’ that we know?”

Time didn’t answer right away, his head tilted slightly as he thought of a response. Warriors had a far easier time reading Time as a wolf than he did when Time was a Hylian. Perhaps it was because Time wasn’t used to this form and what it entails. Though before that happens Warriors plan to take advantage of being able to read the old man for as long as possible. 

“He is….” Time sighed, shaking his head, “Just trust me on this okay? He’s our Wolfie and is here to help us as much as he can,”

Warriors gave Time a long, hard look. The older Link knew more than he was letting on, just like how he never talked about where Twilight disappears for hours on end. Time wasn’t going to tell Warriors anything no matter how hard he was pressed.

So he will concede on this, for now at least.

“Alright,” Warriors’ tail smacked the stone floor as he shifted in place, “But if I find out he’s holding onto information…..”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” Time turned back around to get the drink of water he was talking about. 

Warriors turned his attention to looking over the sleeping bodies of the others. Everyone still seemed to be fast asleep, or at least pretending to be. All except the writhing gray mass trying to squirm his way from under Wild. Grumbles and grunts could be heard from the large wolf, not that Warriors could understand any of it.

Warriors couldn’t help but not trust Wolfie. Just how he was acting made Warriors suspicious, especially with the whole ‘glowing eyes and trying to kill him’ deal. There was no ounce of recognition when Wolfie was glowing. Hell, Warriors had never seen such a crazed expression on Wolfie, especially pointed towards him. Annoyance sure, but never pure, blinding rage. 

It just didn’t feel like the same wolf who curled around the campfire, always mysteriously vanishing when they woke up. Not to mention the issue with how Wolfie got up here in the first place, wolves aren’t exactly made for cannon travel after all. There must be some other way up here that Twilight doesn’t know about or he was lying that the cannon was the only way up. 

As Warriors ruminated, Wolfie had successfully gotten himself out from under Wild all without waking the scarred Hylian up. The large wolf quickly took to looking over everyone from where he stood, head tilting slightly as he made eye contact with Warriors.

Wolfie was still coated in blood, whether it be human’s or monster’s Warriors rather not find out. Even the chain had specks of blood on it that would have to be dealt with soon so it doesn’t rust. The white parts of his fur were no longer glowing nor were his blue eyes. 

Wolfie broke the staring contest by shaking his head and snorting irritably. He then proceeded to make his way over to the water, and, without much bravado, jumped in it. Wolfie, being the size that he is now, easily stood in the water and had to lay down to be fully submerged.

“Who-” The Great Fairy suddenly appeared at the sudden disturbance of her waters, “Ah, it's just you Divine Beast, washing off all the grime from your outing I take it?”

Wolfie raised his head from under the water, “Yes, Sorry about disturbing you. This is the only water source that I know of in these parts, and I rather not smell like rotting meat while I search,”

Warriors was surprised by Wolfie’s voice. Sure it still had the echo but it no longer sounded like the wolf ate sandpaper moments prior. Despite how quiet Wolfie was, Warriors could have sworn he heard that voice before. 

The Great Fairy simply waved him off, “You do as you must, now what are your plans for today?”

Wolfie grunted as he shook off a paw before putting it back into the water, “Look around the local area while I hunt for food for these guys. Light Spirits know how much energy it takes to shift forms, they’re probably starving,”

Warriors turned his head slightly to look over to see Time’s reaction. Time had stopped drinking water and was listening to the conversation with surprising intensity. His ears were completely forward, directed at the two, and his entire body was frozen.

Warriors himself was still processing the information he just heard. Wolfie spoke as if he had some personal experience with transforming. Did Twilight tell him, or does Wolfie actually have a human form?

“A wise decision but,” The Great Fairy moved some of her green hair out of her face, “You have a few herbivores in your midst,”

“THAT is the hardest part of the hunting trip, I hope I can find some plant among the wildlife they can eat,” Wolfie responded, looking out to them as well.

“Might I suggest looking out for some grass and shrubbery, bark as well though I don’t suppose they’ll be too happy about that,” The Great Fairy finished with a smile. 

“I don’t suppose they’ll be happy about raw meat-,” Wolfie’s ears flicked over in Warriors and Time’s direction as Time shifted from foot to foot.

Wolfie turned his head slowly towards the two, eyes widened slightly. Wolfie’s ears went flat against his head as he stared at the two. Warriors can’t even fathom how sensitive Wolfie’s ears were if he could hear Time shifting slightly from across the cavern. 

The Great Fairy followed Wolfie’s gaze, and a look of understanding briefly past her face. She raised a singular eyebrow at Time and Warriors before her attention returned to Wolfie.

With a brief touch to the top of Wolfie’s head, she got his attention again, “Perhaps you should take one of them with you to learn?”

Wolfie shook his head, his voice now sounding like it did the previous day, “No. They aren’t ready,”

Warriors couldn’t even think about responding before the Great Fairy replied sternly, “You do not know that Hero. It is better for them to learn under you than try to figure it out like you once did,”

Wolfie let out a small growl, and moved to get out of the pool, “I won’t let THAT happen to them,”

The Great Fairy frowned, “You have no way of telling the future, help them now so they can help you in return,” 

Time decided to shake out of his stupor and responded “Just give us a chance. Adapting to new challenges is what we do best,”

Warriors didn’t verbally respond, but he did nod along as he watched Wolfie’s reactions. Wolfie was staring down at the stone floor, his ears still flat against his head. Finally Warriors could hear a sigh from the Wolf, as he got out of the water and shook himself free of the water, it somehow not even flattening down his fur fully.

“Fine.” Wolfie looked more towards Warriors than Time, “Which one of you two are coming?” 

“I am,” Warriors responded before Time could, “Sorry old man, but the others listen to you better than they do me. It’s smarter for you to stay here,”

Time did a motion akin to raising an eyebrow, “Then what are you going to do about the little otter at your side?”

Warriors bobbed his head up and down in lew of a shrug, “Sailor sleeps like a rock, I can just put him on you easily,”

“Oh really now?” Time’s tail wagged slightly, “When did I agree to this?”

“What else would you be doing? Talking to the Great Fairy? Having a staring contest with your reflection in the water?” When no answer came Warriors chuffed, “Exactly,”

“Do you even know how to pick Wind up without hurting him?” Wolfie’s voice croaked as he shook himself one last time for good measure and made his way over to the two.

“I- shit,” Warriors looked down at Wind who was still sleeping peacefully at his side.

If he wasn’t careful then he could do some serious damage. Time was even looking a bit frazzled by the implications. Both of them weren’t used to these forms enough to do that without harming the otter.

Wolfie silently moved over to standing directly next to Warriors and stared down at Wind like he was sizing him up. Then with surprising grace and gentleness, Wolfie bent down and picked up Wind from around the middle. The otter looked so small in Wolfie’s maw, like he could be swallowed in two bites. 

Wolfie tilted his head wordless at Time, encouraging the other to lay down. When Time walked over and got settled Wolfie placed the otter gently on his side. Surprisingly Wind didn’t even stir and only moved to bury himself in Time’s fur.

“How did you do that so effortlessly?” Time asked, sniffing at the small otter on his side. 

“First lesson is on controlling your strength,” was all Wolfie answered with, his chain clinking against the floor as he moved to the stairway, “are you coming or not?”

Warriors quickly got up and took off after the large wolf. Saying a quick goodbye to Time as he went.

“Stay safe,” Was all Warriors could hear from Time as he went to the next level of the dungeon

—--------------------------------

“Sooooo…. what are we going to be hunting?” Warriors asked once they were outside of the cave.

“Anything,” Wolfie turned to tilt his head at Warriors, “Try and find a trail,”

“A trail?” Warriors asked as his ears went to the side slightly.

“The scent trail monsters, people, and animals have that they leave while walking,” Wolfie explained, “Lions’ sense of smell isn’t as good as wolves, but you shouldn’t have an issue with it,”

Warriors bent down, giving the sand a test sniff, “So how does this work exactly?”

“It works differently for different people. All I have to do is sniff around to find the trails,” Wolfie unhelpfully explained, “Just don’t start following trails that smell… dark,”

Warriors looked up, “Dark?”

“Corrupting, evil, whatever you want to call it. Smells different for everyone, for me it smells like rotting meat,” Wolfie had a distant look in his eyes as he turned away. 

“Alright then….” Warriors turned back to the ground as Wolfie went silent. 

Wolfie had a hardened look in his eyes. Warriors definitely knew something was up, maybe an unfortunate experience during the quest here. Twilight got the same way when they were questioning him on his relationship with the Queen. 

Sniffing the ground, Warriors tried to make sense of what he was smelling. There seemed to be thousands of smells intertwined just in this one area. A sour smell was most prominent coming from either Wolfie or older ‘trails.’ Unluckily enough Warriors couldn’t differentiate any of the smells.

“Did you find anything?” Wolfie asked upon hearing Warriors sigh.

“Nope, the main thing I smelled is something sour coming from you and the area around us. What’s up with that?” Warriors stood up fully, watching as Wolfie bent down to sniff the sand.

“Must be remnants of those three,” Wolfie’s nose was wrinkled, showing faint signs of sharp teeth.

“So there are three ‘interlopers’ as the Great Fairy put it? What’s their deal anyway?” Warriors asked.

“All you need to know is that they are the ones who stole the Great Fairy’s power, and they are the reasons the Zone is here,” Wolfie said, once again looking away from Warriors.

“But you know more,” Warriors supplied, “Why not just say it now rather than just keeping it to yourself? We are a team after all,”

Wolfie snarled, “Nothing I have learnt will help as at the moment. If it was relevant I would say something,”

There it was again. That damn look like Wolfie knew better than Warriors. Which may be true in this whole ‘animal’ thing, but knowing the details of a mission is critical. This isn’t something a team member should keep to themselves just because they can.

Warriors growled, “Listen here Fido- I am tired of you hiding information from us. So actually answer my questions, like where Twilight is or even the information you are clearly hiding,”

Wolfie just looked down at him cooly, “I don’t know where Twilight is, we went our separate ways at the Cave of Orde-”

“BULLSHIT!” Warriors got up directly in Wolfie’s face, “if he was around then he would have already found us! So tell me what happened to him before things get serious,”

He was done with Wolfie’s games. Twilight could be hurt or worse and he wasn’t going to risk it because this wolf wanted to be secretive. Just talking to this beast angered Warriors for some unknown reason.

Wolfie’s eyes widened, “Nothing’s happened to him! I- he-.... Just trust me on this alright? He isn’t hurt, and he is safe,”

That slip up did not go unnoticed by Warriors as he briefly wondered why both Wolfie and Time were so obviously keeping something from him. It bothered him to no end, teammates are supposed to share things. Especially if it was related to the job they were doing. 

“Give me a reason to trust you and I’ll let this drop because this entire thing is suspicious as hell,” Warriors felt his tail flick wildly side to side. 

Wolfie’s ears twitched, “What kind of reason do you want? Do you need me to prove that I am the ‘Wolfie’ you know or what?”

“That would be a good start,” Warriors was keenly aware of every movement the large wolf made.

“Fine,” Wolfie sighed, “When you were looking around the castle and encountered that poe. I saved the entire group, even getting a bit of my fur cut off in the process. Or I could talk about the time I woke you up from a nightmare roughly 2 weeks into m-.... Twilight joining you,”

Warriors was too surprised to process the slip up as he stared at the Wolf. It was for sure the wolf from the castle, although something wasn’t adding up. He didn’t remember Wolfie being there when he woke up. In fact it was Twilight who was on watch and woke him up. 

Wolfie at that point was basically an enigma, barely being seen at the edges of battles, taking out any monsters that came too close. Wolfie didn’t even get into the light of the fire until a good month into their travels. So how exactly was this wolf the one to wake him up?

“So, do you believe me now? Or are we just going to keep going in circles like this?” Wolfie interrupted his thoughts, tilting his head. 

Warriors nodded, “It’ll do right now. Only when we find Twi will I actually believe you,”

Wolfie huffed, “So we can go now, or am I going to be interrogated more?” 

Wolfie’s forced gravelly voice dropped just for a second. The echo was still there, but it sounded eerily close to Twilight’s. In fact, Twilight said something similar back in the castle. Just what was the connection between the two?

The winds shifted slightly and Wolfie perked up, “Let’s go,”

‘Wait what?” The lion asked, having to bound after Wolfie just to keep up, “Where are we going?”

“I smell a Bullbo, we can use that to feed everyone easily,” Wolfie looked around, ears swiveling in every direction, “Just have to make sure we don’t encounter the rider,” 

“It has a rider? Just what are we hunting?” Warriors asked, sniffing the air to try and find anything.

“A giant boar basically. The Bulbins use them to travel and for meat,” Wolfie’s head turned to their left for a moment, as he led them to the right.

“Will we encounter any Bulbins there?” Warriors asked, trying to keep up as Wolfie increased in speed.

Wolfie froze, head turning to the left again, “Look,”

Coming across a nearby dune was a warped creature. It was roughly the shape of a Bulbin but pitch black, a mask of white on its face. Glowing red lines were so bright that Warriors could see it from their position.

“What in Din’s balls is THAT?!” Warriors asked, watching the best shamble as if something was weighing it down

“Shadow cursed Bulbin, a fate that awaits for any monster that are trapped here,” Wolfie answered solemnly, “It shouldn’t bother us for now,”

“Will that happen to us?” Warriors took one last look at the pitiful creature before bounding after the wolf.

“Luckily no, your triforce protects you,” Wolfie started to drag one of his paws through the sand for some reason.

“Then what of you?” Warriors asked, watching as Wolfie’s fur rose for a moment. 

“....You don’t need to worry about me. The Zones barely have an effect on me, even after all this time,” Wolfie finally said after a long moment.

Wolfie refused to talk anymore than saying a yes or a no to any other questions Warriors asked him. Due to that, the two settled into a slightly uncomfortable silence. The only noise being from Wolfie’s chain grinding in the sand and their sound of their feet hitting the sand. 

Eventually Wolfie stopped, crouching into the sand as he looked onward. Warriors did pretty much the same, trying to figure out what the wolf was looking at. 

It became abundantly clear what Wolfie was looking at. There was a small oasis at the bottom of the dune where a giant boar was eating. The boar has a saddle and didn’t even appear worried about any potential hunters. It looked like a perfect area for everything they needed.

“Is that the Bullbo?” Warriors asked, watching Wolfie sniff the air.

“Correct,” Wolfie spoke in a hushed whisper.

“So what’s the plan?”

Wolfie thought for a moment, “You flank it- attack either its legs or underbelly- I attack head on,”

“Is there a risk it will try and kick me?” Warriors asked, analyzing the beast.

Its hide was thick and coarse. Just from the look of it it was made for endurance more than intelligence. The more stupid the beast or person the more dangerous it is.

“Are there any doubts?” was all he got in response.

Warriors bit back a snarky response, “Any tips?”

This actually made Wolfie pause for a moment, “.....Trust your instincts, and back out if it gets too dicey,”

Warriors’ ears went back, tail smacking the sand with irritation, “Same stuff as usual then, what if you get injured? What then?”

Wolfie looked over, blue eyes filled with earnesty, “You don’t have to worry about that,”

Warriors huffed in annoyance as he went to his position. He was getting tired of people telling him not to worry. It must be a usual thing in this world as now both Twilight and Wolfie have essentially told him not to worry. 

Once he was on the dune behind the Bullbo he saw that Wolfie started to approach it. Wolfie was crouched into the sand, keeping low to the ground as he approached the boar. It was a smart plan as Wolfie approached from downwind, freezing and crouching low whenever the Bulbin turned it head slightly.

Wolfie strategically moved to the side, eyes never leaving the Bullbo’s neck. Then with speed Warriors had rarely seen from the wolf, he struck. Teeth digging into the top of the neck of the beast, forcing it to kneel.

The Bullbo let out a pained squeal as red blood dripped into the sand. It shook, and stomped trying to get Wolfie to let go. He held on though, somehow keeping the large beast bent down as it squealed in pain.

Warriors took this as his time to come in and help. Racing in, he carefully avoided the flailing legs and jumped. He landed smack dab on the saddle of the beast, nearly slipping off immediately. This earned him a glance from Wolfie as he continued to bite down.

Warriors shook away any discomfort from his messy landing and looked at the beast. He could now tell that Wolfie was aiming for the spine of this beast to kill it. From how deep Wolfie’s teeth were in the beast’s neck it was only a matter of time.

After another moment of hesitation warriors decided to turn around and go for a back leg. His claws made it a relatively simple task to turn around, his tail going back and forth quickly as he tried to maintain balance. 

Digging his claws into the Bullbo’s rough hide felt weird. It was somehow easy, but ripping at the muscles was a whole different task. Eventually he got to make an inch cut in the skin, the bullbo now screaming in pain so loud that Warriors winced.

Then, almost in slow motion, he felt the bullbo break free of Wolfie’s iron tight jaws rearing up on its hind legs. Warriors, almost like it was second nature, leaped, avoiding the boar trying to flip and gore him with its tusks.

Blood was pouring from the wound on its neck, as Wolfie moved to block the Bullbo from the Captain. Wolfie barked and snarled, jumping away from the beast almost in a taunting manner. The Bullbo took the bait and sluggishly charged at Wolfie.

Then, at the last possible moment, Wolfie dodged out of the way and immediately changed his direction to attach himself back onto the neck. The Bullbo let out one last scream, before crumbling to the ground lifelessly.

Wolfie let go, blood still dripping from his maw as he moved towards Warriors, “Are you alright?”

“Are you?” Warriors asked, seeing how tired Wolfie looked.

“I’m fine, it’s just been a while since I had to do something like that,“ Wolfie glanced back at the corpse before managing a smirk, “I wasn’t expecting you to jump on top of it though,”

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” Warriors bobbed his head towards the small plants in the oasis, “Shall we?”

The wolf’s ears flattened, “Let’s just hope we can secure the plants so they don’t fly away,”

The lion snorted, making his way towards the grass. Somehow they would figure this out even if it took all day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was eventually decided that Wolfie would take the Bullbo as Warriors took the plants and fruit. This was mainly because of Wolfie’s larger size and the fact he was actually able to move the beast. 

So, Warriors took to securing the plants and fruit they managed to gather to the Bullbo’s saddle. Wolfie had torn the straps apart to get it free. It was a difficult task for Warriors to make a knot, especially with no opposable thumbs. Eventually though he managed to secure it with a sloppy knot.

“Alright! That should do it,” Warriors stood up fully to admire his work.

“Finally,” Wolfie grumbled as he stood up, “Now come on, the others are waiting for us,”

“Right,”

It was slow going as pulling the Bullbo up sand dunes was visibly starting to wear on Wolfie. There were still no complaints from Wolfie however as he obediently pulled it, getting slower and slower as time went on. 

Warriors sighed, annoyed. It was clear to him that Wolfie wasn’t going to ask for a break anytime soon. Twilight did the same thing occasionally, especially when he was caught in the rain one night and was running a fever. Though this particular instance seemed a bit more dangerous than just being a little sick.

“Can we take a break? I need to readjust the knot,” Warriors lied easily watching the Bullbo corpse stop moving.

“Alright, we’re nearly back anyway,” Wolfie answered quickly, flopping into the sand with a huff.

Warriors spent as long as possibly pretending to fix the knot. He couldn’t drag it out for too long though as then Wolfie would come to see what the holdup was. When enough time passed Warriors turned around to tell Wolfie he was ready to go, only to see a familiar golden glowing poe.

“You.” Warriors snarled at the poe, who looked just how he did last he saw him.

Wolfie could immediately be seen on alert ears swiveling until he noticed the poe, “Shade?”

“You know this freak?” Warriors asked, looking at Shade unamused, “When did that happen?”

Wolfie thought for a second, “He helped to train both me and.. Twilight during his adventure,”

Shade shook his head and looked at Wolfie, his red eye showing just a faint bit of amusement in them.

“Your sense of humor is still skewed. I don’t see what’s funny about this,” Wolfie seemed to retort, though the shade just tilted its head.

“What? What did he say?” Warriors asked, but were ignored.

Shade tilted his head as a bandaged arm raised up and gestured to the area around them. Wolfie’s ear flattened and looked embarrassed. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Warriors asked, looking in between the two.

“You can’t hear him?” Wolfie asked, as Shade shook his head.

“No! It’s just you replying to this silent prick!” Warriors replied, sending a glare over to the shade.

He hadn't forgotten his first encounter with the poe. How Time looked utterly terrified when making eye contact with it. Nor how the Shade seemed to be indifferent until they mentioned Twilight. Even now this ‘Shade’ seemed far more expressive than their previous encounter.

“You’ve actually met him before?” Wolfie asked, shooting a look at Shade.

“Yeah, he’s the one who pointed us to you,” Warriors said, pausing to look over at Wolfie, “So what was it saying?”

“Well-” Wolfie stopped and looked over at Shade, a small whine of confusion able to be heard.

Warriors look over at the Shade, seeing it raise its hand and signing out:

(I was telling him to take better care of himself)

Wolfie’s ears perked with interest as Warriors responded, “Wait you can sign? Then what was all of that cryptic pointing and glaring at Time shit?”

At the mention of Time, Shade’s hands clenched tightly mid-sign before relaxing and continuing, “(I… have my reasons for doing what I do)”

“You sure about that?” Wolfie innocently asked, which would've worked if not for the hard stare he was giving the poe.

If looks could kill, Shade would be 6 feet in the ground. Warriors was wondering what Shade was saying that was earning him that look.

“Another thing!” Warriors once again drew the twos attention from the staring contest, “Why is it you have Old Man’s helmet? Are you the original owner of it or something?”

The lion could actually see amusement in the red eye, “(Why do YOU think I have it…. Captain?)

Warriors’ blue eyes were blown wide open as Wolfie looked between the two confused. Shade had just used his ‘sign name’, something that very few people knew and even fewer used it. 

He thought back to those in his world and who helped him in the war. This poe was recognized by Wolfie so he must be attached to this world somehow. That ruled out a good chunk of his allies, leaving only two people- well Links- that it could be that used his sign name.

“No way…” Warriors found himself sitting down, “Time?!”

“(It has been some time since I was referred to as such)”

“Wait what?” Wolfie looked between the two, his voice no longer having the distorted effect, “What’s going on? How do you know who he is?”

“He used my sign name, not many people use it even today,” Warriors looked at the poe, “I’m surprised he remembers it with how…. Old he looks,”

“(You are not surprised by this.)” Shade noted.

“Well… yeah,” Warriors sighed, wishing he could scratch the back of his head, “Twilight kinda told me that he met Time- well- YOU during his adventure. That idea expanded when Twilight freaked out towards your Stalfos form. I wasn't expecting to see you so…”

“(Dead?)”

“Yeah.. that,” Warriors said noting how Wolfie flinched, “You signing would have been useful for leading us Twilight rather than this prick,”

Warriors looked at Wolfie who was avoiding looking at Shade with all his might. His ears were completely flat as he took to using his other paw to fiddle with the manacle around his leg.

“(I showed you the way to Twilight)” Shade casually looked at Wolfie, who now looked panicked.

Warriors frowned, right about to say something as the pieces fell into place. The matching scars on the left arm, the matching tattoos, even the ear piercings. The refusal to answer his questions all made sense. How did he not notice that Wolfie and Twilight sounded and acted so similar to each other?

“Holy fuck. You’re Twilight,” Warriors said it like it was a statement, as Wolfie’s head snapped towards him.

“What? No-” Wolfie looked to Shade, “Back me up here!” 

Shade lifted both of his hands up, apparently saying something that Wolfie did not like as he growled.

Warrior grinned, “You're totally him!”

“No-” Wolfie tried to refuse, as he was interrupted.

“All that bravado and aloofness-” Warriors fully laughed now, “You were just trying to keep your identity a secret!”

“I just told you-” Wolfie paused, seeing Shade shake his head.

He continued, now looking defeated, “This is your fault Shade. Fine, I’m Twilight, happy now?”

“I can’t wait to tell the others,” Warriors replied smugly.

Twilight’s eyes widened with panic again as he quickly walked over, “You can’t!”

“Why can’t I?” Warriors met the panic with calmness. 

“I…” Wolfie paused, “This form of mine, isn’t from the usual magic everyone uses. I was cursed- you know that necklace I wear?”

“The one you freak out about if anyone so much as looks at it?” Warriors specified, “What about it?”

“Zant cursed me to this form, shoving that crystal into my skull,” Twilight looked down with disgust, “It’s dark magic, not very befitting of a hero,” 

“So you're worried about their reaction to you using some unconventional magic?” Warriors waited until Twilight nodded, “...Your a fucking idiot,”

“What?” Twilight tilted his head, his ears bending with gravity. 

“You’re family, why would we care about the specific magic you are using? You’ve already proven you can be trusted 20 times over,” Warriors sighed, “But fine I’ll keep it a secret for now. Who all knows about this?” 

“....Wild, Four, and Time,” Twilight responded with a sigh, “Now can we go? The others have to be wondering where we are,”

Of course those three knew, they were constantly hiding things and making excuses as to why he was gone in the first place. Warriors internally grumbled at all the blatantly obvious hints to Wolfie’s identities. Even Time’s slip up made sense now.

“Sure…. Mr. Floof Flooferton,” Warriors grinned as Twilight snarled.

“I can and will bite you,” 

“But you won’t,” Warrior looked to where Shade was only to find he had disappeared, “Where did he go?”

“Who knows?” Twilight grumbled, “He does this everytime, gives some cryptic advice before vanishing into mid air,” 

Warriors went over to the saddle, ready to pick it up again, “Well let’s just get to the others, I can’t imagine how hangry they are,”

“We will find out soon enough,” Twilight grabbed the reins of the Bullbo, once again continuing to lead them back to the Cave of Ordeals.

#ancestor's legacy #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu time #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu wild #lu wind #lu sky #lu four #linked universe fanfic

[dark-elf-writes]

Feral teen mom Harry Au

Harry sees a small, pale girl, delirious from hunger, who tries to take a bite out of his neck. Harry stuns her and manages to find blood (it doesn’t matter where it is from as long as it isn’t tainted) for her.

The girl tells him, after about a gallon of blood, that her name is Toga Himiko, but he can call her Himi. He made her not feel as hungry for the first time in so long. She tells him she loves him after he fixes her fangs, almost torn out by her supposed family.

Harry decides that he likes her, and the way she can get so passionate about support items and doesn’t even get mad when he flinches from touching them. She never tried to take a bite out of Teddy, even when she was starving, because ‘babies are too cute to eat’.

Later, they meet a twenty-something with burn scars running all over (like how Voldemort looked when Harry killed him for the first time). He is shaking biting back a yell as he dabs burn cream on himself, injured badly after a bad fight where someone tried to attack him in his sleep.

And maybe Harry almost failed out of potions, but Hermione had been generous enough to give him as many healing potions as she could, as well as a book about them and what can and can’t be used on muggles (she knew he would find someone who needed help, and she was going to make sure he could help them.)

Harry helps Dabi, who sees the broken family the trio made, with a crazy elf, a baby whose quirk is too strong, a girl who is always starving, and a boy who, like Shoto, was raised to be a soldier. Dabi agrees to join them as they go around, trying to find odd jobs that hire them.

They both know about magic, Toga from a vampire she met a while back who she had brushed off as a hunger fuelled hallucination, and Dabi from hearing his dad talk about it on the phone. They don’t know much more, but they accept Harry when they realize what he was. What Teddy was.

When Harry tells them about Eraserhead, they force him to go. Let one of them live, and thrive.

Harry promises to rescue his family when he can.

Harry promised himself he wasn’t going to open himself up again. Wasn’t going to give himself more people to lose but.

Himi smiled at him like he had hung the stars just for her. Dabi’s laugh is smoke rough and sends pleasant shivers down his back. Both of them had stepped in front of Harry and Teddy more than once while they went around looking for anyone and everyone who would hire them. Had stepped in so Harry didn’t have to reach for the writhing mass of power just under his skin and have to start running again. Both of them had stayed up waiting for Harry to come back from his patrols seemingly taking it in shifts so one of them was always there waiting for him, was always watching over Teddy and Kreature where they rested.

(They weren’t Ron and Hermione, but Harry didn’t want them to be. He wasn’t sure his broken pieces fit with theirs anymore. Didn’t think they would run with him if he had to move again. It ached to think. His oldest friends. His first friends.

But this was for Teddy so he would keep moving.)

They wormed their way into Harry’s shattered heart without him knowing until it seemed… normal to turn and see them there. To hear the echo of footsteps after his own as he ran. To know no matter what he and Teddy were not so alone.

And yet.

“I say take his offer.” Harry actually hissed at Dabi’s casual words, something that never failed to make the man laugh. He did now, seated on the fire escape of some building so the smoke of his cigarette wouldn’t hurt Teddy. (Harry had nearly made him eat one the first time he had lit up around his baby. He still glared at him now, watching the trail of smoke with narrowed eyes.) “Seriously, kid, you’re meant for more than this.”

Himi nodded jingling the keys she had stolen from someone earlier in front of Teddy much to his delighted giggles. “You should be a hero. I mean you’re already a hero, but the costume would look cute on you.”

Harry grumbled, low and dangerous in his chest. Neither of them flinched. They never flinched from him. “What happened to ‘Heroes are pigs?’”

Dabi’s laugh was full of smoke and snapping debris. “You happened.”

And how the hell was Harry supposed to respond to that? He didn’t instead saying: “Come with me.”

He knew the answer before he said the words. Knew that while they would follow them anywhere to follow him now would be… unwise. Knew but it still ached when Dabi leaned over the fire escape to raise an eyebrow at him.

“I’m dead, remember? If I show myself now…”

True. Very true. If Harry hadn’t promised Endeavor to Dabi he would have taken care of that issue already but as it was…

“I still have a warrant for my arrest.” Himi sighed, a frown dancing at the corner of her lips. “People won’t believe that I was… sick.”

They never believed no matter where they were. They hadn’t believed Harry when he was eleven and starving. They hadn’t believed Harry when he was seventeen and desperate to protect the only thing that mattered to him the only way he knew how, had been trained how. They wouldn’t believe Himi now.

The window opposite of Dabi shattered and Harry forced himself to take slow deep breaths. Control it. He could control it.

“Then I wont go.”

Himi’s eyes flicked to him immediately, narrowed with her fangs flashing in the grimy light of the streetlight at the mouth of the alley. “You will. For Teddy.”

Harry flashed his teeth back, not as sharp but just as deadly, then he sighed. He didn’t want to leave them. Didn’t want to stop running if they had to continue but…

His baby came first. He had to.

“I’ll come back for both of you.” He swore. “So don’t do anything fucking stupid in the meantime.”

“Fu!” Teddy jabbered, as bright and bubbly as always.

Dabi and Himi’s laughter filled the alley, roiling smoke and knife-sharp.

“We should say the same to you. You’re the king of stupid.” It was Dabi’s turn to get teeth flashed at him but he only laughed and flicked ash in Harry’s vague direction far too far away for it to do anything.

He will be back for them. He won’t accept any other option.

#the elf talks #mha #bnha #harry potter

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

.

How to explain that going to church makes me hurt and angry, but not going to church makes me sad and depressed.

#I need to go to Mass. I need to get over the anxiety mental block and just go. #blue chatter #it’s just. I’ve only gone a couple times this semester and every time has left me feeling more empty and hurt than when I walked in #and I know Mass is more than just how you feel. and that it matters that I am there where God calls me to be #I know. #I wish nobody there knew me so they wouldn’t be so worried and ask questions about where I’ve been #it’s like. I cannot possibly explain to my church friends why I haven’t been showing up. #it’s not even scrupulosity anymore it’s just. I can’t be here. I don’t belong here. #and the new priest is trying *so hard*. I’ve been honest with him about how I’m struggling. #but it’s just. there’s something missing. he wants to include the congregation but fundamentally doesn’t understand what that means. #‘everyone is welcome. No I will not make an effort to include marginalized people. they’re welcome bc they can Walk In The Door.’ #and I know it’s not that the church has changed #if anything I’d be having the same issues with the old priest. I’m the one who’s changed. #but instead of spending my Sundays with God I’m just. melting into a puddle of Sad. and that’s not good for my faith life. #I need to do *something*. I just. any time I think of trying a new church i feel exhausted. #God please help me. #I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t want to be alone and miserable and losing touch with my faith

[here-there-were-dragons]

as a general rule, on average, if americans consistently complain about a food being conceptually weird, gross, and scary, then it probably tastes amazing. or at least inoffensive.

this is because in my experience americans for the most part (give or take a few exceptions by region) think eating literally anything other than beef, chicken, bread, eggs, peanut butter jelly sandwitches, ketchup, and disgusting cloyingly artificial brown sludge soda is insurmountably weird, gross, and scary.

#a lot of people literally refuse to even eat ham or pork #not even for like religious or health reasons #just because they think eating anything but beef and chicken is 'weird and scary and gross' #every time i hear people going on en masse about how 'weird and an acquired taste' something foreign is i go and try it and i'm just like #what the fuck were all of you smoking. where is the unbearable weirdness i am supposed to be experiencing #shoutout to that time i kept hearing about how bizarre a flavor milkis soda is and how intimidating and acquired of a taste #then when i actually try the stuff. it's just fucking peach soda. it's peach soda with a faint tangy yogurtish taste. it makes good floats. #how in the absolute fuck is anything even remotely weird much less gross about this? #unless your concept of what a 'soda' should be is poisoned by a lifetime of the entire soda aisle being filled with nothing but brown sludg #from the same 3 brands that all taste like what would happen if they could distill the concept of diabetes and artificial flavoring syrup #i don't know if other countries have this but there's this weird cultural like mandatory rejection of any 'unusual' food here #way more intense than i've seen from anyone from any other country (though that might just be inexperience with other cultures talking) #people react to the mere suggestion of any food outside a very narrow range with outright disgust and genuine fear and horror #and there's a huge amount of unspoken peer pressure on everyone to also do the same #like you're expected to agree with them and you've breeched some sort of silent social contract if you don't #it's seen as *immoral* almost it feels like #it's difficult to describe unless you've noticed it yourself #americans react to the mere suggestion of eating anything outside of the same 2 meats and handful of fillers the same way #that pearl-clutching aristocrat grandmas react to hearing that people in foreign countries do.. basically anything #it doesnt matter if you're suggesting eating ube cake or suggesting eating live bugs because people will react the same way #everything that's not chicken/beef/ect is as good as bugs to people here #hate this stupid blandass country and how impossible it is to afford any food other than burgers if you're not rich #or blessed with relatives that have any idea how to cook and are at all willing to teach you #cause nother weird thing i've noticed about food culture-or at least wasp food culture-that i haven't seen anywhere else quite the same way #is that if you DO have any relatives that know how to cook then nine times out of ten they will jealously guard their recipes like a dragon #and refuse to share them with anyone #thus taking whatever little cooking knowledge was in the family to their grave #so the opportunity other people usually have for family bonding via passing on recipes? pffft no. #for some reason we seem to actively go out of our way to prevent these things from being passed on #i don't know what the fuck is up with that but i suspect it has something to do with 50's dinner party oneupmanship

[theinternetkilledmychildhood]

!!!! Something in my life went well for once!!!! Details in tags (slightly hindered by tag limit)

#so my romantic life has been a fuckin shitshow for years and even more so in the past few months #but i meet this guy at work last week who I really clicked with #we both got drinks at a sort of evening event nearby (the chalet at mass MoCA for those of you who know) after work last week #i ended up meeting a lot of new people and talking a LOT with him which was lovely #it was the most social I've been in months and i really enjoyed myself #and like. i gave him my number after work (which was how i ended up going to this thing in the first place) and afterwards??? he texted me #telling me he was really glad to see me there and he had a great time #and through our conversation i got indirectly invited to come over to his place and make/drink homemade wine spritzers (my recipe) #and at first i wasn't totally sure if this was a making new friends thing or maybe something more? #he's about 6.5 years older than me and we'd only talked twice (once at work and once at the thing) so it could've just be friendly #but we had that wine spritzers date last night and hung out for like. over 4 hours?? mostly just talking #oh boy did we talk about fuckin everything. he also told me I'm a very beautiful person in the course of that conversation #which... not many people have done in the past couple years. i can think of maybe one or two. so it's a big thing for me #and when we went inside to watch a few episodes of a show he recommended #he turned to me after the first couple episodes (which we were intermittently talking through) #and very matter-of-factly said can i ask you something? and when i said yes he said how do you feel about cuddling? #and of course my touch starved ass who already had a developing crush on him immediately said I'm a big fuckin fan of it #and we just. sat and watched like three more episodes of this show like that. very comfortably. #mostly holding hand(s) while he had his arm around me and i had my head on his shoulder (which was lovely) #but also??? with his hand between my thighs??? not doing anything but just like holding my leg #and we were like that for most of the last episode and a half of this show #and that was it! it got late and we both had to work so I left a bit before midnight #we chatted a bit and he hugged me on my way out but it wasn't anything more than that #and y'all. i fuckin. the slow pace? the honest and open communication? the clear respect of me and my boundaries but also attraction to me? #((which i barely comprehend btw)) #god its so nice to be into someone whos also into me who's like. older and at a semi similar level of emotional and mental stability?? wild #so yeah im. very much reveling in the least dramatic and most wholesome slowburn of a romantic entanglement ive had in my entire life #GOD. to be treated like an ADULT by another ADULT. it shouldnt be this crazy but it really truly is. #ive had no choirs by florence in the machine stuck in my head since i walked home and its exactly everything i feel rn #personal

[hannieehaee]

jeonghan being a menace to his gf, pls pls pls I'm on my knees 🛐🛐🛐

18+ / mdi

content: softdom!jeonghan, established relationship, sub reader, jeonghan's a little shit basically, smut, fingering, edging, afab reader, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 1346

a/n: thank u sm for requesting this! this is my favorite subject

masterlist

"h-hannie ... please ..."

"shh, angel. it's okay"

"no, please ... please!"

"i said quiet, baby. dont make me repeat myself," he tsk'd at you, continuing the slow movements of his fingers against your clit.

it had now been over an hour since your boyfriend had decided to make your life hell. for someone who got called an angel by the masses, he could be very mean. specially to you.

you had been completely unsuspecting, simply having woken up next to your boyfriend a bit over an hour ago. as soon as you'd woken up, you had felt a mass against you, which you quickly deduced to be your boyfriend pressed up against you. you couldn't help yourself. you knew he'd punish you for it, but you were half-asleep and you weren't thinking right, so you began to grind your ass against him. it was a not really innocent act. you hadn't meant much by it other than to further feel him against you. but jeonghan didn't take it that way.

jeonghan had woken up, the heat of your almost bare lower half grinding against him. in the morning of all times, when he felt the most sensitive. he had felt like you were teasing him, which was strictly not allowed. he was the only one with that privilege in the relationship. you had both acknowledged it to be unfair, but neither of you minded, enjoying what came attached to your dynamic.

he gave you a few minutes to have your fun, drinking in your mewls of pleasure as you felt him harden even more against you. but soon enough he had had his fill, now wanting more. with all his strength, he wrapped his arms around you, halting your movements as he crept closer to your ear, breathing against it before speaking up.

"gonna be bad today, baby? didn't even try to be good at all, huh?," that was when he trapped you, twisting you to his liking and making you face him as he snuck his fingers down, down, oh, right there.

you immediately whined at his actions. he knew exactly how to move and how much pressure to apply to your most sensitive areas. he began by drawing soft circles on your clit, making you hold onto his arm as you begged him to touch you properly.

"i'm touching you properly. are you saying i don't know how to touch you, angel? should i stop?"

"no!," you'd cried. you'd take whatever he gave you, no matter if it was so little.

that's how you ended up in your current predicament. on hour later, in the same spot, with no proper pleasure to show for your worn out state. he had been toying with your sensitive bud for a whole hour, occasionally allowing his fingers inside you before pulling them out right before you reached your end. he took you all the way to the gates of heaven just to pull you back under before you could go all the way up. he was cruel, like that. his other hand occupied itself on your tits, softly rubbing at your nipples as you threw your head back. there was nothing you wanted mote than for him to use his fingers to their full potential; pulling at your nipples with one hand while the other scissored in and out of you. but this was jeonghan you were talking about. he needed to make a torturous show out of it.

"hannie ... please. i'm begging you! wa-want -oh!"

he had finally decided to take some mercy on you, moving his fingers at a speed he hadn't reached since he first started touching you. you wanted to whine and beg for more, but you knew it was dangerous territory. one wrong move and jeonghan would take it all away.

he must have read your mind, as the next thing he said pertained to your sudden silence (sans a few muffled mewls), "what? not gonna make noise for me, angel? nothing for me? what do i get out of playing with this pretty pussy if i can't even hear my angel cry for me?," he was about to stop, just when you went on a limb and grabbed onto his wrist, using all your strength from preventing his fingers from leaving you.

"oh? my baby's gonna be bad? okay, angel. i'll allow it. already misbehaved so much today anyway. you must want it really bad, huh?"

you nodded frantically as his face neared yours, breath against your mouth as he looked down to you.

"god. my gorgeous angel. you're so beautiful. did you know? huh? have any idea what a pretty thing you are?"

he knew his words did nothing but drive you closer to the edge, only making your cries for him louder as you were at the brink of it.

"that's it, angel. cum for me. let me see that pretty face you make- ah! that's the one. so pretty," he mockingly gasped at your orgasmic expression, bringing up his hand from playing with your tit to wipe at a lone tear escaping your eye.

he gave you a few seconds to catch your breath before he began to crawl over you, yanking off your soaked panties as he pulled his own sweats just below his ass. he grabbed his cock, rubbing it a bit before grabbing at the end of it and positioning just against your cunt. then he got even meaner.

with his angry tip, he rubbed his cock against the your swollen clit, drawing light circles on it as you gasped and writhed at the feeling. the filthiness of the act made your eyes roll back, loving the feeling of his hard length rubbing against your abused clit. you had been sensitive for over an hour, only gaining even more sensitivity after the intensely awaited orgasm he had just given you. the feeling of his cock giving you such light stimulation made you throw your head back.

"oh, angel. you're so sensitive for me, aren't you? my beautiful angel. just a simple touch and you're already in the clouds, huh, angel? love how responsive you are."

he must've gotten frustrated a few moments later, deciding to plunge in with no warning. the sudden intrusion made you gasp, digging your hands on his back as he began to fuck you at a fast pace, leaving behind the softness of his previous touches.

"gonna make you cum, okay angel? need you to strangle my dick with that pretty cunt, yeah? gonna fill you up."

he knew there was nothing you loved more than when he came inside you. he was just as addicted to the feeling, but would sometimes go as far as depriving you of it just to tease you. he always put his ability to make you beg for him over his own pleasure. he thrived off of your cries for him.

"hannie! please! come in me. need y-you to! please .."

"it doesn't seem like i'll have an option either way, angel. you're squeezing me too tight. can't even m-move anymore," he panted against you, increasing his pace by the second. he was on the verge, as were you.

only a few moments later and he was filling you up, with your own orgasm following close. once you had caught your breaths, jeonghan finally lowered his face down to yours, kissing softly into your mouth. except it never stopped just there. jeonghan knew how obsessed with kissing him you were, so he always had to pull at all stops. there was nothing he loved more than your cries for him, after all.

he sensually licked into your mouth, instructing you to stick out your tongue for him. his tongue took yours, licking and sucking at it in such a nasty way that had your eyes rolling back. he pulled away soon after, chuckling against your mouth at the way your lips followed after his.

"gotta stop rewarding you for being bad. i'm creating a brat," he knew it wasn't true, but he simply just lived to tease you.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt smut #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan smut #jeonghan x reader #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #svt fluff

[squoxle]

HIIEUSI WAS WHHEE HI SIS I WAS WONDERING U COULD DO ARCADE FF WITH HEESEUNG ?

Omg girl I haven’t had time to write a damn thing yet and my drafts are piling up. But moots take TOP priority and I try to respond to asks as fast as possible. Anywaysss here you go and I hope u enjoy 🩷

Ride Me ~ L.HS

pairing: Heeseung!bf x Reader!gf| wc: 1k | summary: Things take a steamy turn after your boyfriend shows you his new at-home arcade setup. | cw: 🔞MDNI!! unprotected sex, cumshots, fingering, clit stimulation, pet names [daddy, good girl, baby] <- 100% Heeseung coded [porn with a plot] Enjoy :)

“Well babe, what do you think?” Heeseung asked as he uncovered your eyes revealing the mass gaming setup. “I figured I’d use this more than the theater room,” he ruffled his hands through his hair, anxiously waiting for you to respond.

“It looks great, but I’m gonna miss our little movie nights under the blankets,” you smiled as you walked up to one of the machines.

You clicked a few of the large buttons, anticipating a pixelated image to flash across the screen. “Umm, how do you turn this thing on?” You asked as nothing seemed to work.

Heeseung placed his hand on the edge beside you, trapping you beneath him as he reached down to flick a power switch. You felt his weight slightly press you against the machine as he did this.

“I must’ve forgotten to turn this one on,” he met your eyes through his shaggy hair. Something about that state felt off, but maybe it was just you so you brushed off the feeling and proceeded to look at the other games he had.

A zombie survival simulator that came with 4 guns.

A claw machine filled with plushes.

A retro fighting game.

And a two player motorcycle game.

Eager to try this one out, you climbed onto the bike.

“Of all the stuff you just saw, im surprised this is the one you wanted to play,” Heeseung tilted his head.

“Yeah, well, I like racing games. Stuff like MarioKart, y’know,” Heeseung watched as you struggled to reach the coin slot from your seat. The opening sat just out of your reach.

Your tits pressed up against the leather as your cheek meshed with cold material.

"Let me help you," Heeseung whispered in your ear as he reached over to insert the coin. You felt him pushing himself up against you from behind which sent butterflies through your stomach.

You went to the loading screen and customized your bike, "If you wanna play, there's another bike," you said as you noticed your boyfriend was still straddled on the bike behind you. His hands gripped the back of the seat as he sat there with his legs spread open.

You had a bad habit of staring at the print in his pants, didn't matter if he was hard or soft. You craved to feel him inside of you.

"I know, but I wanna see how you ride," he smirked as he grabbed your hips, quickly jerking your hips backward.

Feeling the heat rush to your face you continued to start up the game. You chose a Tokyo map because of the neon cityscape terrain at night time. Though you tried your best to stay focused you couldn't shake the feeling of Heeseung sitting behind you like this.

"San, ni, ichi...sutato," the automated female voice called out as tri-colored traffic lights flashed across the screen. The aggressive rumble from the bike startled you as it took off.

You felt as Heeseung squeezed your hips again before leaning against you. You nearly crashed as his touch caught you off guard.

"Be careful baby," he said before placing a kiss on your neck.

"I-I'm trying. But you keep distracting me," you stuttered.

"Am I really that distracting," he asked as he slipped his hands around your thighs, squeezing and pulling at the flesh.

"Ngh," you groaned. "Yes, you are."

"Oh, but you like it when I touch you like this. Don't you?" Heeseung grinded his hips against you.

"Mmm," you moaned as you felt his budge pressing into you. "H-heeseung," you said letting out a soft breath.

"Keep driving baby. If you come in first place, I'll give you a little treat," he hummed as he reached his fingers in between your folds. Your growing wetness slowly seeped through the fabric of your panties.

"Ngh!" you huffed as he massaged your clit through your shorts.

He continued to tease you as you struggled to finish the race, barely coming in first after finding a shortcut.

As the gold star shot across the screen, Heeseung hummed a raspy "Good girl," in your ear before helping you out of your shorts.

At this point, you were only wearing your hot pink thong--something you knew Heeseung loved to use. "Show me that pretty little pussy of yours," he bit his lip as you pulled the small fabric to the side, exposing your wet folds.

He smiled as he palmed himself before pulling his veiny cock out only to glide it between your slimy lips and tease your sensitive bead with his tip.

You whimpered as you began pushing yourself against his hard dick, eagerly trying to force it inside.

He halted your movements by gripping the inside of your thighs, spreading your legs more, before telling you to "ride Daddy's dick like the good girl I know you are."

Immediately after he said those words, he shoved his dick deep inside of you, causing you to let out a sharp groan. "Fuck," he winced. "You're still so fucking tight," he said slowly pumping his cock into you. "Ngh," he moaned before leaning forward to kiss your neck as your ragged breathing filled his ear. "You sound so fucking sexy when you're taking my dick like this," he pecked your cheek as you finally adjusted to his length.

You started to grind into your boyfriend, stuffing his cock deeper into you as he held you from your waist. "That's it, baby, just like that," his words encouraged you to pick up the speed as he pulled your lips into his, gripping your throat.

He turned you over and fucked you from the back as your tits pressed up against the leather. You clenched around him as he let out a groan. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he gritted through his teeth before 3 long, hard thrusts. You felt his warm seed spill into you and drip out as you came with him. Fortunately, your panties caught the majority of the spill.

Exhausted, you laid across the bike as Heeseung kissed your shoulders.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @chlorinecake @mimikittysblog @nikisdubblchococake @wonbinisbabygurl @hynjinnn1 @mrswolfhard3 @laylasbunbunny @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul @nikohiroshi @thatbooknerdfr @wonniewonwon @sughoonieeee @babyy-bambii @adrika04 @sehunsharpasseyebrows @wtfyangjungwon @fr-3-akn-4-stymf @rikiloversworld @shawyle @sunoosrightbuttcheek @uarmyxtae @lovesickxmina @urfavberry @urauntiefaye @breadlover01 @taehyunsfavmoa

#enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fanfic #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung hard hours #enhypen imagines #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung #heeseung #enhypen #lee heeseung #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen x reader #heeseung angst #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung fluff #heeseung fluff #heeseung fanfic #heeseung scenarios #enhypen lee heeseung smut #enhypen lee heeseung #request

[yaksha-lover]

It Will Come Back

Summary: You take in an injured fox, nursing it back to health. It keeps coming back, some times more human-like than others.

Kitsune!Malleus Draconia x Reader

cw: very minor description of blood/gore, mentioned wild animal death, minor suggestive jokes, starts out a little spooky (or so i tried) but inevitably becomes wholesome-ish, pls ignore typos i’m too tired to proof-read

The fox you find by the riverside isn’t like any you’ve seen before. His fur is so dark that it takes a moment for you to even notice the wet blood matting the left side of his rib cage.

The sight of an injured animal is all too common for you. Living far from any big towns means there’s hardly any available treatment for them. Your neighbour, the only other living person around here, always dismisses your worries about the poor creatures, telling you that it’s only the circle of life.

As much as you know he’s right, your bleeding heart insists on taking the black fox home, if only for him to have some comfort in his last moments. You know he won’t survive the journey to town; he may not have the hours necessary to get there.

He’s large for a fox, too. You consider calling your neighbour to help, but you know he’ll only roll his green eyes at your pleas. Instead, you lift him into a wheelbarrow as gently as you can, and pull him back to your small cottage.

He whimpers a little as you move him, but his eyes remain closed. When you arrive, you transport him carefully to the makeshift bed you’ve put together, piles of blankets you hope will be enough to keep him warm and comfortable.

When you come back with water and some medical supplies, the fox opens one eye. It’s strangely eerie, the way he stares at you as you approach. His lime gaze is intense and focused, almost as though he’s trying to examine you, peeling away your skin with his eyes. You shake off the feeling, knowing you’re probably overthinking things.

He’s only an animal, after all.

The fox remains silent as you clean his wounds. Thankfully, they don’t seem as bad as you initially suspected. It’s strange - there seemed to be so much blood before, the wound was practically gushing. Was it a trick of the light?

You must be tired from your long day of foraging; now you’re seeing things.

You leave him wrapped in bandages and huddled in blankets to rest for the night.

-

The next morning, you awake to a warmth at your side. It’s been getting a bit colder, but even your blankets don’t tend to run this hot. You pop an eye open and panic for a moment at the fluffy black mass curled up beside you. You giggle to yourself when you realize what’s happened.

“How’d you get up here, little fox? I thought you’d feel too ill to move.”

The fox raises his head at the noise, tilting it as you speak. You offer him your hand, and he sniffs it, before moving his head to be cupped in your extended palm.

“I’m just glad you’re okay. Make yourself at home,” you say, petting him gently between the ears. He closes his eyes and settles into your touch.

As you get up to begin your day, you expect him to stay curled up in your sheets. Instead, he hops off the bed, suddenly wide awake, and prances happily behind you into the kitchen, no sign of the injury he suffered just last night.

Questions run through your mind, unease playing in your stomach. It’s all so bizzare, but you try to settle the anxiety. Why question a good thing, no matter how strange?

-

“What should I call you, little guy? I don’t want to keep calling you ‘the fox.’”

He stares at you, green eyes narrowed softly as he takes a seat on your couch, making himself at home by cuddling into the cushions. The seating is already worn down, but either way, you wouldn’t care much about where he sat.

“Hmm, how about Tsunotarou? Your ears are so pointy, they almost look like little horns!”

He raises his head to look at you, as though he understands. You smile back at him, mooning over his cuteness and reaching a hand out to pet him. You hover your hands over his head, waiting for his go ahead.

You beam when he pushes his head up into your hand, petting enthusiastically but remaining gentle for his sake.

You’re interrupted by a knock at the door. There’s only one person who ever comes over, so it’s no surprise to hear the voice of your neighbour ring out in the silence.

“Oi, open the door, herbivore. What’s all this blood outside your home?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not mine,” you call from inside. You walk to the door, letting him in. “I…made another rescue attempt.”

He gives you a look that screams ‘seriously’. “Another failure then? I don’t know why you do this to yourself.”

“Actually, Leona, this one was a success. Check my couch before you doubt me so fast.”

Leona pushes you gently away from the doorway so he can come in, and peeks around the corner.

The expression on his face morphs from surprise to confusion to disappointment. Leona sighs. “You didn’t…”

“Didn’t what? Save a life? Clearly, I did. Although, I’ll admit Tsunotarou wasn’t in such bad shape, so maybe I didn’t do too much of the work. But still, you can stop calling me silly for wanting to try-”

“Tsunotarou??” Leona stares at the fox. He stares back and almost seems…amused? Strange, your fox certainly was expressive and clever. “Ugh, this is too much for me to deal with. You’re an adult, you can handle it. I’m just going to leave these here.”

Leona drops a bag of meat on the counter. It was part of your usual trade; he’d give you part of his hunt, and you’d give him part of what you grew in your garden.

“No one asked you to help deal with him? What do you mean…”

Leona ignores your questioning, heading out of your kitchen and stopping as he passes by the couch where Tsunotarou still lays, watching. He turns to face him.

“Don’t hurt them. I’ll be checking in again soon, so no tricks, or else you’ll be dealing with me.”

“Did you just threaten my rescue fox?”

He ignores you once again, only pausing briefly in the doorway to leave you with a final warning.

“Scream if you need help.” With that, Leona is off, probably back to his cottage across the field.

You’re left confused, but Leona rarely cares to let you in on what he’s thinking, so you try your best to just ignore his words. There’s a prick of fear in the back of your mind, though, because Leona is never serious, but his warning certainly seemed to be.

No, he’s just been talking nonsense. How could the sweet angel on your couch be any threat? Tsunotarou had cuddled up to you just this morning.

You finally turn back to him. He’s watching you. Again. With a slight head tilt this time, his dark ears standing straight, as though he’s curious. You approach the fox to sit beside him on the couch. Once you begin your soft pets, he places his head into your lap.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. Big bad Leona won’t hurt you. I don’t know what’s up with him today. He’s probably just spooked from all the dead animals that have been showing up around the area. I mean, what does he expect, we live in the woods.”

Tsunotarou picks himself up from the couch. You expect him to jump off, maybe even try to escape through the door. Instead, he plants himself fully in your lap, curling up into a tight little ball.

Even the overwhelming cuteness of the situation is too much for you to ignore how strange it is. As you stroke your hand across his fur once again, you wonder how this wild fox could be so tame. Was he someone’s pet once? He had no collar, but he could’ve been lost years ago.

With the warmth of the fox in your lap, it’s easy to drift off to sleep for a quick nap.

-

Tsunotarou’s gone when you wake up. At first you think he’s just gone off to explore the house, but you’ve checked every room and he’s nowhere to be found. Which would normally be fine (he is a wild animal after all, he deserves to be where he belongs) except for the fact that no doors nor windows were open or broken. Tsunotarou had disappeared with no explanation.

-

You awaken to a familiar warmth, the brush of something soft against your bare legs.

“Were you hiding somewhere Tsunotarou?” You smile, eyes still closed as you snuggle against- skin?

“Not hiding. I had some business to attend to.”

Your eyes pop open as whatever is in your bed circles its arms around you, letting out a scream as two very human eyes stare back at you. You scramble out of its hold.

“What the hell?! Who are you? Get out of my bed!”

He pouts. “You just said yourself, I’m Tsunotarou.”

“No, Tsunotarou is a-” It’s only then you take notice of the dark ears poking out of his head and the three tails swaying behind him. “How did you- never mind, just get out of my bed first! Who told you you could be there?”

He steps out from your sheets, thankfully clothed in a loose black kimono. “My apologies. Children of man have changed much since I last spoke to one. I did not realize I would alarm you with my presence in this form.”

“So what, you’re some kind of monster?”

Malleus frowns. “I prefer the term creature. Monster suggests something…wicked.”

“Alright, creature then.” You narrow your eyes. “What kind?”

He approaches you and ruffles your hair, sharp claws dragging gently against your scalp before you have the chance to pull away. “Surely you can guess by my form. Have you truly never encountered a kitsune before?”

“A kitsune? I thought they were only tales told by bored grandparents.”

“I’m a mori kitsune, so it’s understandable you’ve never seen my kind before. But it’s likely you’ve met a different kind of kitsune who prefers the more…urban spaces that children of man typically occupy.”

“You don’t like being around humans?”

He hums. “I wouldn’t say that’s true. Rather, the opposite seems to be the case. Most children of man find me…unsettling, despite my best efforts.” He makes eye contact, a small smile appearing on his face. “But not you. You took care of me.”

“When…when I thought you were a fox.”

“Technically, I am still a fox,” he says cheekily.

You glare weakly, but your ire doesn’t seem to break his good mood.

-

You’re out gathering herbs for dinner when you spot it. A trickle of deep red, so dry it almost looks brown, which builds into a streak across the ground, as though whatever left it behind was dragged as it thrashed.

Although you know you live in a forest full of wild animals, the scenes you’ve come across recently have been…odd. Brutal. As though whatever’s been killing and eating the animals has a strangely horrifying way of committing the act, leaving behind carnage, but never a body.

You force yourself to shake off the unsettling feeling and return back home once you’re done.

-

“Hello, my dear.”

You jump slightly at the voice. Tsunotarou sits on your couch when you return. You’d asked him to leave the previous day, after your long bouts of questioning left you exhausted and unable to deal with all the information. He seems to have returned to reclaim the same place he occupied as a fox. You don’t bother asking how he got in.

“Hello…Tsunotarou? It feels strange to keep calling you that made up name…do you plan to offer your own?” you ask as you put away the things you’d gathered in your cupboards.

He waits for a moment to respond, considering your words. “I suppose I can, although I do not mind your other name for me. You may call me Malleus, if you wish.”

“Malleus, huh. Why do I feel like I’ve heard your name before?”

“Perhaps in another lifetime, you spoke it often,” his smile grows as you turn around and look at him skeptically. “Just jesting, of course.”

You roll your eyes when you turn around. He’s certainly made himself comfortable with you; you can’t really say the same, considering how long you’ve known each other.

Still, you’re so unsettled by what you’ve been seeing for the past few weeks, you risk allowing him to believe you’re closer than you are to have someone to talk to about it.

“You wander out in the woods at night, right? Have you seen the blood and…things, left behind by something?”

His reply is delayed, but you barely take notice. “Yes, I have.”

“Isn’t it disturbing? I just keep thinking, what’s moved into the forest to do something like that, like it’s some kind of performance of torment instead of an animal eating to survive.”

Malleus only hums, offering you no comfort. “I never considered that.”

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence. You start on dinner, and he seems content to watch you from the couch. Since he’s already here, you offer to make a larger portion so he can have some as well.

“Thank you, but I’ve already dined today,” he replies.

It’s only once you’ve finished cooking and have settled into your kitchen table that Malleus makes his way from the couch to occupy the seat across from you.

You’re halfway through your soup when a question forms in your head.

“Malleus, how did you get hurt when I found you?” You look up at him, his green eyes finding yours.

Another pause before he answers. “It was a mere tussle with a…friend.”

“A friend did that to you? I thought you were going to die?!”

“Well, perhaps he would not consider me a friend. And while your concern is certainly endearing, I was in no true danger. Did you happen to notice how fast my wounds healed?”

“I guess I did…” Although it raises the question why he’s so insistent on clinging to you when you barely did anything to care for him, let alone save his life. “Your friend…where is he now?”

“Across the field. What children of man call ‘your neighbour’.”

“Leona? Leona did that to you? How is that even possible, I thought kitsune are infinitely stronger than humans?”

“Is that what he told you?” Malleus drawls.

“No, you’re the one who told me…what do you mean?”

He sighs in understanding. “Never mind, I suppose that is his business to tell you.”

“To tell me what?”

“Why don’t you pay your ‘friend’ a visit? It seems you have some things to discuss.”

-

Leona answers within a few seconds of your knocking, standing in the doorframe. When you stare at him without saying anything, his tail starts swishing in discomfort. Since when has he had a tail?

“You need something, herbivore? That little fox causing you trouble?”

You ignore his question. “Can I come in?”

He doesn’t reply, swinging the door open and stepping out of the way. You take off your shoes at the door and head into his living room.

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” he grumbles, following you.

You turn around to face him. “Why did you hurt Malleus? How do you even know a kitsune?”

“‘Malleus,’ is he now? What happened to Tsunotarou?”

“I didn’t know he wasn’t just a fox, okay? You didn’t tell me, but apparently you knew this whole time?”

He looks away from you. “I figured the problem would resolve itself. Kitsune aren’t exactly known for sticking around humans. Unfortunately, it seems he’s taken an interest in you.”

“And you fought him? Do you have a death wish? There’s no way a human could take on a kitsune!”

“I’m not- never mind. Let’s just say I was in an…altered state of mind. Wasn’t thinking clearly. Can we leave it at that?”

“That’s all you’re going to give me? No explanation for why you attacked him? Are you responsible for all the brutal animal killings too?”

Leona rolls his eyes. “You’re accusing me? Like you don’t already know how those happened.”

“What?”

“You can’t be serious. Are you really this obtuse?”

“Just spit it out, Leona.

“Malleus is the one who eats them, idiot. He’s a fox who likes to play with his prey”

“But- his fox form is petite? How is that possible?”

Leona rolls his eyes. “He can go from fox to human but that’s your concern? He’s magic and a trickster, so don’t believe everything your senses tell you.”

-

You think Malleus has left by the time you return from Leona’s, but he’s really made himself at home in your bedroom instead. You don’t bother addressing it yet.

“Why did you lie to me?”

His eyes look up from his book. Your book. “I have never lied to you, child of man.”

“Leona told me the truth! I know you’re the one who’s been killing those poor animals. How can I trust you, no, feel safe around you after you lied, and did…all that.”

“Your ‘neighbour’ is just the same as me. Do you no longer trust him as well?”

You sit down beside him on the bed. “Leona’s a kitsune?”

Malleus chuckles. “No. He has lied to you, though. He is not human but wolf. He hunts, just the same as I do. He just happens to be better at cleaning up his messes, I suppose.”

“I…I guess that makes sense. But that’s different. I know Leona, he’s my friend. And he doesn’t torment his prey.”

Malleus’ ears sag and he pouts. “I believed we were friends as well. We dined together. I slept in your bed.”

“When I thought you were an animal! Now you’re somebody else.”

“I am the same. It wounds me terribly that you’d change your opinion of me based on my appearance.” He sighs. “I suppose it’s only natural. Others often judge me quickly as well.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You know it’s not like that. If I’d met you like this, I wouldn’t have…”

“Wouldn’t have treated me so kindly?”

“No, I just…I don’t know how it is for you kitsune, but for humans, sharing a bed is…”

“Intimate?” he offers. “I am aware. I simply believed you were enamoured with me. ‘Love at first sight,’ isn’t that what children of man like to say?”

“You were a fox,” you deadpan.

“And now, I am human. Primarily.” His ear twitches. “I know now that changes things, but perhaps it is for the better? There’s many things I’ve yet to try in this form, and now I have my own child of man to teach me. Delightful, isn’t it?”

“Hm, I guess so. You can’t sleep with me, though.”

He tilts his head. “In what sense?”

You try to flick him on the forehead but he stops you, linking his hand with your own instead. “Do you even know how- uh-”

He laughs. “Yes, I am aware how children of man mate.”

“Never mind, we’ve gotten off track.” You glare at him. “I’m still angry with you.”

“I am aware. I find your flushed look quite compelling.”

“I wish you hadn’t lied to me.”

“Technically, I hadn’t. You never asked if it was I who killed them.” He shakes his head. “Kitsune must eat, but I would have never done so in that manner, if I had known it would be upsetting to you. I haven’t since our conversation, and I will not going forward, I promise you, dear child of man.”

“You’d do that? For me?”

“Of course. Anything for you, my darling.”

“But why? I’ve barely done anything for you?”

“You offered me kindness, which is in short supply for kitsune. And I find I quite like your abode.” He moves closer, catching your chin in his hand and turning you to face him. “I would enjoy spending more time here, if it would be permissible to you?”

“I guess that would be okay…but no funny business.”

His lips twitches. “None at all.”

-

Despite his inexperience with humans, Malleus learns how to settle into your life well. Tonight, he’s even insisted on cooking for you. He’s been practicing for a while, so you’re intrigued to finally try what he’s prepared.

As he plates the food in front of you, the smell wafts until you’re practically drooling. You catch him with a self-satisfied smile from the corner of your eye, as he watches you feast on the food he’s made for you.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks.

“Yes, it’s very good, thank you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Once the two of you finish your food, you take a seat beside one another on the couch. Malleus pulls out a small pouch. “I have something for you, my child of man.”

“A gift? You didn’t have to, Malleus.”

“I wished to. Now please, present me your hand.”

He takes your hand gently into his grip and straps on a stunning silver bracelet. It’s slim, but engraved with symbols, each segment a different kind.

“Thank you, Mal. I love it. Where did you get it, all the way out here?”

“I have had it in my possession for a very long time. Centuries, perhaps. It holds a protection spell from a strong mage. It will protect you, as you once protected me.”

You don’t know what to say, so you turn to hug him instead. You throw your arms around Malleus, squeezing him. It takes no longer than a moment for him to squeeze back.

It’s an hour later, once you’re in the middle of a game of chess, that Malleus speaks while moving his pawn.

“Do children of man desire life mates? I’ve observed, you live all by your lonesome.”

“A partner? Yeah, but not many options living out here.” You move your knight.

“Surely, there are some you might consider.” He moves another pawn.

“Nah, I’m not interested in Leona like that.”

“I did not mean the wolf. Someone a bit closer to yourself. Perhaps in this very room.”

“If you want to say something, you should say it. Humans prefer that.”

“Duly noted. Child of man, I desire to be your mate.”

-

The next time Leona comes to drop off your exchange of goods, he enters without announcing himself and accidentally gets an eyeful of you and Malleus making out on your couch.

“Leona! Knock much?!”

“Hello, Kingscholar.”

“Draconia.”

You shift your eyes between the two of them. It’s not exactly tense, but there seems to be no love lost between them.

Leona turns back to you. “So, you’re shacking up with him now?” His face scrunches up. “Do I need to prepare myself for little hybrid brats running around here sometime soon?”

“Says you, Mister I-forgot-to-mention-I’m-a-werewolf.”

Leona snickers. “I didn’t forget, I just didn’t feel like telling you. Humans can be annoying about those kinds of things.” He glances back to Malleus at your side. “Guess I didn’t have to worry about that, huh?”

“They are more kind than most humans, to be sure.”

“Right, and you’re not just saying that because you’ve been scr-”

“Leona!” you cut him off. “Thank you for bringing the meat. Your veggies and herbs are on the counter in the brown bag.”

He grabs his things and heads out the door, pausing to drop one last cheeky comment: “I guess if I hear you screaming, I shouldn’t worry this time. Maybe just for your legs.”

Malleus chuckles. “I will be gentle.”

“Hey, don’t enable him!”

-

A/N: Inspired by Hozier’s “It Will Come Back” !!!

don’t let me in with no intention to keep me / jesus christ, don’t be kind to me / honey, don’t feed me, it will come back ~

#wrote this for halloween but alas… #finished it six months later ahaha #every post i make is just ‘listen to hozier’ propaganda #twst x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland

[comfortless]

The way you write König makes me cry and dry heave cuz you balance his loser unhingeness and his heartbreaking tenderness is✨ ART✨

Now I feel like you would be able to EAT this prompt up but imagine König as Frankenstein’s creature that is this big ass hulking mass of body that immediately makes the town grab their pitchforks but he can DESTROY them in seconds. But inside he is just a little guy who just wants somebody to hold and love (and other activities if ya know what I mean

Keep doing what you do❤️

A Place For Us

Frankenstein’s creature! König x fem! horologist reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. discrepancies!, reader is implied to have anxiety, angst & fluff, non-malicious stalking?, loner/loner dynamic my beloved.., brief mentions of previous murders and religious imagery, codependency, smut; masturbation, unprotected piv.

notes: receiving this ask was so funny to me because @melancholic-thing and i have been bouncing this idea around forever (i simply could not have brought this any justice without ghost’s input— if you see this please know that ily dearly). thank you, anon for your kind words and finally giving me the push that i needed to write it! 💘

wc: 10.6k

You’re good at fixing broken things; tinkering with them with a set of well-polished tools until they begin to tick, or chime, or cuckoo.

Some take longer than an afternoon sat before the wooden desk, weeks or months— a year, once. Oiled parts and small cogs, the three arms that jerk and glide over a face riddled with numbers that all lull you into feeling that your work is not just some monotonous service only the rich buzzards could afford, but as if you were a healer of sorts; a little cleric stationed to bring life into whichever jagged, broken thing has been dropped or kicked at her doorstep.

This one, however… you’re convinced it’s as good as dead.

No matter how many times you take apart the little, gray pocket watch, the arms refuse to move. Its ticking sounds less like that of the beating of the heart and more like the grinding of dry teeth, a corpse begging, pleading to let this attempted resurrection come to an end.

Your tweezers wrench the face free, and all at once it proves too much— bending and warping beneath the metal grip until it cracks, a split right through it, down to its very center.

“How…” Your voice fills the void of ticking, pseudo-silence surrounding you. A word slipped out in frustration and unknowing before you finally toss the wretched little thing onto the desk with a clatter and step aside.

The house is as dark and brooding as always, too large for a woman on her own and a workshop that hardly counts as a proper business. Shelves of broken clocks serve as decor where potted plants and well-loved photographs should sit in their stead. Books of study for modern devices such as these in place of the poetry and worn love letters other women seemed to have in abundance.

This place was starved out of light, even with the flickering glow of candles and the electric humming of the unnatural yellow one above.

The sun is no stranger, either, your curtains neatly pulled aside to allow for it to filter through like an invited guest. Only it doesn’t, not on such a melancholic gray day.

You need a walk, a distraction, or this hungry home would be certain to rip away your work from the shelves and swallow you whole instead.

Isn’t it such a tragedy that, someone who pours her creativity and all of her love into time, all she seems to do is waste it?, the gaudy wallpaper seems to taunt, all the colors of filthy maroon and darkened blue flowers seeming to make it feel more imposing and less of a comfort.

Your hand curls around the handle of your umbrella, a sturdy thing, but just as drab as the rest of the home. Then, the package you’ve been putting off delivering to the elderly woman in town. Best to get it done with now, maybe upon your return the hands that fix could do so once again.

Shame about the clock face though. You would certainly have to patch together another and pray the pocket watch’s owner wouldn’t notice.

The wind is not what you had anticipated.

Outside is different. The howling of it past the windows and shuddering through the attic felt perfectly at home in your shoddy little house, but as the door swings shut behind you, it feels entirely alive. Cold and bitter and angry— the things you keep repressed that nature lacks the tact to.

The trees bend and sway from its invisible yet incessant pushing. The hand containing the package falls down to the lap of your skirt to keep it from flying up just as your other clutches the umbrella ever tighter to keep it from billowing out into the air to be left discarded miles away.

It isn’t a short walk to town, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, it almost seems as though you’re in more tender company than the lumber and the ticking clocks.

The path through the forest is overgrown as always, branches are pushed aside and your skirt is lifted to avoid burrs and thorns.

You should have had the sense to bring along a coat, because when the thunder does strike up and the rain finally begins to fall in heavy, hurried drops, you find yourself shivering terribly with the package guarded against your chest.

Lamplight would have done well, too.

You would have almost happily allowed yourself to toss aside the umbrella and be battered by the rain if you could only see. The forest is dark on days like this, with the canopy of thick branches and their dense leaves blocking out any sliver of light cast down from overhead.

It’s only by sheer luck that you don’t manage to trip, toss your delivery into the shadow of a tree and lose it entirely before you do make it out. When the trees finally part to the barren hill overlooking town you breathe a sigh of relief, a quiet thanks for the grayed light above.

Your steps are hurried as you make your way through the quiet town. The shop windows are all lit aglow with the silhouettes of people inside, strangely dancing like shadows through a fog. A place you can not be, can not touch.

The stares the townsfolk give you make your skin crawl, as though they are so close to being what you are but not, only tied down to your world when they think themselves lofty. Their eyes always seem to question, scrape under your skin with sharpened arms, ticking and flaying, always asking: Why?

You face forward as your skin begins to prickle, not from the wet or the chill but a subdued sort of fear that nestles burning into your chest, sets your heart rushing like a rabbit.

The streets are silent enough, a small blessing; any passing strangers are hurriedly skittering through the rain and muck to hide away in their homes, children ushered with a hand to their back by flustered looking mothers, complaining in hushed voices about the rain. You only smile at them and step aside when your paths cross.

They never smile for you.

It’s why the broken clocks are delivered to your doorstep rather than brought inside, addresses and names from muffled voices calling out beyond your thick wooden door, coins and bills pushed through the mail slot to lie cold on the welcome mat. The bell above the door never chimes, and you only make your deliveries on days like this, when the rain or the dark blanket you up to keep you safe and eternally somber.

You leave the package on the doorstep, covered from the rain by a small, vermillion awning. One sharp knock is given and you’re back on your way, back to the old house, to the simplicity of the ticking, the comfort of the old cobweb on the vaulted ceiling and the drab gray of the bleakness.

There are puddles now, glistening with any light they can suck into their depths, threatening and taunting as the dull stares and that rickety old desk you really should fix. You think for a moment, that perhaps no one would even notice if one of those dark pits of rain water pulled you in entirely, only to splash through it with ease, dirtying the ends of your skirt.

The rain lessens when you crest the hill, the forest less a tangle of clattering limbs and now only a gentle sway reaches the tops of the trees, light filtering through them, as if to guide you on your way. It doesn’t lessen the bushels of thorns, the tree limbs downed and scattered over the path. In some small blessing, you’re able to scramble over them without having to plan a visit to a tailor to repair a ripped gown; scrubbing the mud from it would surely be tedious enough.

The droplets splatter against the dirt and fallen leaves in hushed bursts, the forest alive as always with the cooing of nesting birds in spite of the rain. The only thing that seems out of place is a sudden, soft thud, the snap of a branch underfoot. Just one footfall, and things return to a placid state amidst the sky’s tears.

You raise your head to glimpse in the direction, gaze sweeping over the figure of a man some paces off to your left. Beneath the shadow of a broad, twisting pine layered in thick branches, his details are mostly obscured, a thin trail of silver light only casting aglow the glimpse of a blue eye.

He’s only large enough to notice, shoulders slumped and chest rapidly rising to fall like a frightened animal; as his silhouette shifts just so you even consider that he’s shivering.

There’s something in that stare of somber blue that splinters at the wall of discomfort; it is not accusing, not bitter, worn and cold. Curious. Something akin to your own.

Damn your sweetness, your inability to simply let things be even as that ache twists around in your chest, clawing at a cage of bone and hissing that you keep silent. Be on your way. Don’t look back.

Instead, you extend your umbrella outward, toward him.

“Awful rain, hm?,” you chime.

The figure visibly tenses, seems to shrink into himself for a moment before straightening and giving one solemn nod.

“You can take my umbrella. I’m almost home, anyway.”

That seems to spark something, not much, but the stranger does take a step forward. Your eyes catch on the wet, matted hair clinging to his head, cascading down to shroud a face you still can’t quite make out.

The poor thing stirs something in you, a deep sympathy that clouds even the judgment of that flighty, skittish thing resting deep inside.

Even from such a distance it’s clear that he’s been neglected, likely cast off by the town even less favorably than you have. His scent carries on the breeze, like dirt and wood and misery.

You extend the umbrella again before realizing he won’t come any closer with you being there. So, you lower it to the ground, avoiding the mud as best you could and leave it. If he took it, fine. If not, you travel this path so often it would be collected in time.

The figure mutters something as you rise, a low string of foreign words that you can only interpret as being spoken out of surprise, perhaps even gratitude.

You smile toward him as you wipe fat, slithering raindrops from your brow.

“You don’t want to catch a fever.”

With that, you’re back on your way, thoughts of the rugged stranger weigh heavy on your mind as the roof of your home comes into view, stilted and in the same drab navy as the flowers on the wallpaper.

You could have done more. It had been instilled into you to not to open the door for someone you did not quite know, yet a part of you longed to take care of something not simply fed by oil, something only capable of telling you how much time you’ve sat alone as thanks.

Surely it was best not to let it distract you.

This was good enough.

The key is produced, the door opened, and just like the many times before that you have forced yourself from this place, the house seems less unsettling upon your return.

As what little daylight remains fades away into night, you find yourself seated, toying with the old pocket watch once more. It’s the only one that doesn’t make a lick of sense, a puzzle that can not be solved. For all the polished parts and meticulous tinkering, it still won’t work properly.

It grates and growls as though rusted, the cogs shifting inside with each movement of the arms are well-polished yet seem to do little but hiss and spit.

This is the fourth time you have taken it apart only to put it back together with no improvement.

There was little to be known about the man who owned it, some pompous, arrogant creature that you had only seen in passing. He had turned his nose up to you, you were sure of that, only to deliver this dying thing to your door the following day.

Your work had always been compared to your father’s. Though you possessed a similarity in skill, you were not what the townsfolk had deemed to be respectable. An unwed lady out on her own, biding her time repairing what they had broken rather than feeding hungry mouths delivered from her very womb, how terribly scandalous.

The pocket watch is set aside as you busy yourself tailoring a small sheet of metal for it. The graduations are carved in with a sharp razor, impeccably angled. Then, the Roman numerals, just before it’s slotted back into place.

The likeness to the former face is nearly uncanny, it’s only sturdier and less susceptible to ripping from the mere touch of tweezers. The rust s gone from the casing, and at long last— it ticks; no grinding growl as the second hand begins its revolution. The fickle thing just needed a touch up, you supposed as you flick off the desk lamp and rise to your feet.

The curtains are drawn as they always were when you step into the bedroom. The muddy dress is finally peeled away as you change and slink into the covers, and just for a moment, you almost think that you feel the animal between your breasts begin to settle too.

———

There’s a letter stuffed into the mail slot: crumpled with no postage stamp, scrawled across some scrap of paper that surely was plucked from a garbage bin.

You marvel at the lack of care for a moment before your fingers do find themselves pawing at it, unfurling the worn edges to find the words: Thank you.

Written in thick black ink, there’s a clumsiness to it, the dance of a quivering hand holding pen. You think back to the elderly woman you had made that delivery to only yesterday; had she trudged through the mud and muck just to bring you this?

Her thanks was only needed in the blessing of payment, and she had already generously done just that when she left her little humming wall clock at the door.

You flip the note over, inspecting it carefully. There’s a line there, too, hastily scratched out in the same black ink, the lines crossing and digging leaving little pinprick holes in the paper.

Holding it to the light, you can just barely make out the words: I have been alone.

Your mouth dries at the sentiment, tongue flicking out to try and force a wetness to your lips. The animal begins its keening howl, a chain rattling as claws sink into your innards; the very same agitated fear that starved you out of comfort day in and out.

The man in the forest, perhaps. You were sure that you would have remembered seeing someone so disheveled and tall about town, and if not for a certainty that he had not followed you home, you would have assumed it was him. Gratitude finally said, and well on his way to someplace else.

There’s nothing here for him or anyone else, surely he could see that. Even you could.

The walls around you seem to bulge, the room shrinking once again as every little thing held within begins to taunt and yowl. Safety was only a temporary luxury, it always has been.

The letter is discarded onto a table, as you opt to hazard a peek out of your curtains instead. The gray from yesterday remains as thick clouds crowd above, threatening another storm. The treetops and tall grass dance in the breeze, freeing leaves and breaking flower stems. There’s no one standing there to greet you, to explain themselves for the strange message that they had left.

The town had probably already driven you to madness, picturing things that were not there while old fools jab you with ominous letters and jeering stares to see just how long it would take to watch you fall apart.

Another delivery day it would be, then; best to get it out of the way before the rain begins to fall.

Maybe you could even retrieve the umbrella along the path, discarded, battered from the rain and likely unused.

You don’t bother packaging the pocket watch, choosing to hastily stuff it into the pocket of your coat instead. Courtesies be damned. Tea and a warm bath would do well when the house was sated by your absence, when you were finally given time to breathe.

In your haste, you nearly kick over what’s been left on the uppermost stair leading to your door.

You find a table clock covered in a thick black fabric, a little note attached to it giving the owner’s name and address, and a small bag containing payment.

It’s all securely placed inside, next to the ugly letter on the table.

Your umbrella doesn’t wait on the path, but you’ve hardly the mind to care. Your hand tightens around the pocket watch as you cord your way down the path and back into town, rushing amidst the foliage until the sounds of your footfalls are dulled by the street.

Reaching the house, a towering narrow building that smells like tobacco even from outside, your hand curls to knock at the door in the same breath taken as the chain is plucked to place it on the knob, intent on scurrying away immediately to avoid the disgusted gaze of the man that waits inside.

You don’t quite make it far enough before the door swings open and you’re greeted by a round face, nose upturned and lip curled into a sneer.

That isn’t imagination.

There’s a genuine hate in this man, seeping down into his bones that makes him almost seem to reek like sulfur through the cloud of cigarette smoke that wafts around him. It’s the face of someone who would love nothing more than to see your own damnation, watch the earth suck you in until your wails fall silent and a fire roars upward in your wake.

“This isn’t my watch, dear.”

“Parts needed to be replaced,” you explain, voice tight and keening like a wolf in a trap, “I assure you that I—“

“It’s shoddy work. Any clocksmith up north would have done better for half the price..”

It goes on like this for what feels like at minimum thirty revolutions, but it must have only been five or so. His droning voice makes it hard to keep track, buzzing as he examines your work, hours wasted upon aiding such an awful creature.

He only seems to grow bored of his chiding when you fall to silence. He wants a reaction, not a wide-eyed fretful stare and pursed lips caging in any sound that may bubble up from your throat.

In one final act of detestation, the watch is tossed to the ground, stomped in repetition until the hands snap, the ticking quiets, and you see months of your work brought to ruin in a mere seven seconds.

He storms back inside and slams the door shut as you stoop to collect the little, broken thing, cradling it in your palms. Maybe it wouldn’t be fixed again, but you’ve hardly the mind to let anything be left abandoned like this.

Though the anger builds, white bitter smoke billowing through your veins, it remains tucked away inside eventually communing with the animal, all but entirely snuffed out when your steps lead you to the front door of the house.

The window to the right is open, not broken. The curtains were pushed aside as though to allow a breeze to enter. A muddy footprint, vast and long scales the siding, but there’s no exiting one to join it.

You stare and listen, taking one quiet step towards the open window to strain your hearing. Nothing. Inside, it’s quiet, only the sound of the breeze rattling that note left on the table, the ticking and the familiar creaks and groans of the house settling.

So, you enter.

With the poker from the hearth in tow, the rooms are investigated one by one. Each and every one of them clear of any intruder. Even the attic, for all of it’s imagined ghosts sits empty, stale and silent. There’s no one here, nothing out of place or broken that hadn’t already been cast out from the world and delivered into your hands.

Strangely enough, it’s more peaceful like this; the leaves could be heard rustling outside, birds calling, even the chirps and strumming of crickets too late to flee the onset of chill seeping through this purgatory, filling the mundane void with sounds of life and peace.

You leave the window open.

The pocket watch is left on the desk, the kettle filled with water and placed upon the stove to heat, all before your eyes trail over to that little table beside the front door.

The only thing amiss is there, your intuition roars at you: “Look, look. Just look.”

The table clock from this morning sits there, the wood casing dusty and the hands perpetually stuck to sit at six o’clock, easy to enough to break, and easier still to fix. An overworked battery and a little oil would be its saving grace; if only things could be so simple for yourself, for the thousand or so others that surely must feel the same— clawed, fretful little rabbits.

Your eyes narrow momentarily, vaguely recalling that the damned thing had been covered when it was dragged inside. Something sable and thick, a scrap of a heavy dress shirt perhaps, verily stained. Odd that someone would have broken in merely to steal something so useless, but stranger tales have been told. For all you cared, the perpetrator could keep it.

You entertain the idea of the wild man in the trees, thick and sturdy as one. Perhaps he left the note, stole warmth from your home and found comfort in that useless old shirt after leaving that roughly scrawled note. Though the idea would horrify others, it only sets your ceaselessly racing pulse at ease.

Toying with the idea that someone so very much like you lurks the hills, found a home in your eyes and paid a visit, kind enough to wait until you were in town as to not scare you… and the kettle begins to whistle.

———

You had forgotten to close the window last night. Or maybe it was left as an invitation, a silent offer of your companionship for the unknown thing that occupies your already haunted mind these days. Something in your subconscious dared you to simply forget, see what happens, and you’re not entirely disappointed to find out that yes, something has happened.

There are three flowers laid out there in a row, smushed by the weight of a heavy palm: a daffodil left golden and proud despite the way her petals fray and wither, and two others wild and unnamed with blue and white colors leading to vibrant green stems. And roots. He hadn’t the time to pluck them proper, nor had a sense of gentleness to his touch in doing so.

It’s the first time you’ve laughed in months, a giggling that makes your chest ache from a sudden mirth through all of this wretchedness. Who knew it would only take three flowers and the appearance of someone so disconnected? You take them and place them in a vase in the same spot, careful to add just the right amount of water to keep them living for a time.

Someone brought you flowers— actually brought you a gift, not a job. You remember those eyes, too. His hands may not have been gentle, but that look was.

Though darkness still creeps internally, you’re resolute in what you must do when you prepare for the day. You’ve never really worn this dress— a soft, white thing with billowing sleeves and tight cuffs that brings a swell to your breasts and cinches your waist. One of the women about town had given it to you in lieu of payment for repairing her husband's watch, left a note prattling onward for three pages about how a woman should dress to find a man. Three!

You’ll find him, thank him for the flowers, bat your eyelashes just a little and retrieve your umbrella. That’s all. The rain would be back, more deliveries would have to be made, and if you could manage a friend from all of this well… surely things could work out for you, just this once.

Your steps are less hurried and more tentative this time around. You don’t barrel through the woods like a galloping mare, mindful of your dress as you lift the fabric at the hips to avoid thick, slickened mire. There isn’t much to do about the thorns nipping at your ankles, leaving little scratches like cat’s claws in their wake.

The thought that maybe this was a ridiculous idea only settles in your mind after an hour of searching. You don’t even have a name to call him by, not an idea on just where he may be or what his intentions truly were, all further punctuated by the fact that you’ve found yourself in the midst of a wild orchard, the yellowing grass nearly reaching your knees as you reluctantly allow your dress to flow free. Thick clusters of apples hang above your head, each nearly ripe, some even fallen to leave a fragrant sweet smell in the wake of their rot.

Thunder roars above, distant but loud, cruelly threatening the wake of a downpour that would so easily sully the delicate thing you wear. Your chest aches from exertion, from whichever horrid fear it's settled on today, and you’re nearly fully convinced of your own madness when something does finally catch your eye.

There’s a cabin, nestled between the trees, old and lacking glass panes for the windows. The roof is covered in moss, walls creeping with the old green of vines and nearly hidden away entirely by the tall grass that rises above its face.

You could wait out the storm in the dark there, rethink your steps until you find a way back home and the prospect of actually entering a building that wasn’t the very picture of your own agony stirs something within you.

You don’t bother to knock, only waltz right in and let the door shut softly behind you. It creaks as it goes, whining from the rust laden over its hinges. As expected, the cabin is mostly barren; a set of dust laden chairs sits on opposite ends of a table missing a leg, a large bookshelf housing only a torn copy of Paradise Lost and a journal, a few dirtied dishes are left on the floor, and in the corner…

There are a lot of things that make you feel small.

You couldn’t live up to your father’s name in town. The thought that you were not an equal to the other ladies with their fine jewelry and dresses, rings wrapped around their fingers, that was a sore spot despite the way you refused to admit to it. Even the hounds lurking about the butcher’s shop on lonely night deliveries, baying and growling when your feet carried you too close.

None of those things could even compare to how you felt now.

The rug he lies beneath is large on its own, but your flower-giving, grateful titan seems even more so. It’s as though walking into a bear’s den and expecting a mere squirrel. Even curled into himself in sleep, he seems impossibly huge.

You couldn’t see much of him that first night, but now… where the rags that make up his clothes reveal a series of long scars along his legs, the hairy arms that seem far too thick: all of him, all of him is massive.

Your rabbit heart does not claw or fight you now, it only flutters, placated by the sight of something so… was there really a word for it? The idea that someone so imposing could strike the match of attraction within you. Feelings were strange, each comes sharp and new like the deliberate twist of a knife through a body, soft like warm bread.

You smile as you wander to his side, recognizing the cloth he wears over his head immediately as the one stolen from your house. Your dress is smoothed at your rear as you lower yourself to sit on your knees at his side, quiet and slow.

“Hello,” you whisper, placing a hand on a shoulder that dwarfs it entirely, feeling the bulge of muscle beneath the ripped shirt, the ridge of keloid scars from deep cuts laid into his skin.

The titan’s eyelids flutter for a moment as he begins to stir, staring up at the ceiling, teetering on the edge between waking and dreaming. Then, those cold blue eyes lock onto you. A flash of disbelief crosses them, just for a moment before something flips and from the holes ripped into that makeshift hood you see an expression that seems almost agonized.

“Hello,” he rasps after a long moment, shifting onto his side to prop himself up and raise his head to level with your own.

His breathing is shallow, almost panicked and you finally think to bring your hands to your lap instead, avoid touching him and potentially startling the poor man further.

“I wanted to thank you… for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” You pause as you study what little of his expression you can make out through the mask, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners only giving a glimpse of a smile. All teeth, probably, an excited one that even the imagination of warms your heart. “I put them in a vase. I didn’t want them to die.”

“I should not have…” His voice is softer than you ever imagined that it could be, well-spoken as the words are pulled from his throat. You find yourself transfixed, almost, praying that he continues if only to hear the delicate strumming of his tone, the soft sigh of breath that leaves him afterward.

“Es tut mir leid.”

The apology is followed by a low sweep of his gaze, slowly crawling from the peek of your cleavage to your hips to rest where your hands lay clasped in your lap.

He hardly seems to know what to do with himself, what to say, and all at once the realization dawns on you that no, he isn’t merely paying his thanks and seeking conversation. Perhaps that was part of it then, but now… he seems almost entranced.

You recognize those looks, from men in passing when they leered, but from him… from this weary, haunted stranger. It only seems a silent sort of reverence; as though longing for something he’s been deprived of.

“No, it’s fine, it made me happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes, it was sweet.”

He falls silent at that, conflicted if the pinch of his brow were anything to go by. Then, sudden, he takes your wrist and jerks your hand toward his face, thumb brushing over the small calluses over each pad of your fingers. There’s dirt beneath his fingernails, even more scaring along those massive hands and you shiver. It’s not fear it’s… something akin to it, opposite by the way it dances and writhes in warmth rather than the cold.

“You have the hands of a maker.”

Strange, sweet Goliath.

His words are spoken somberly, as if there is more to say that he holds back. A part of you warns that you’re not prepared for it anyhow, so you let him continue that motion, brushing over your palm with a featherlight touch until it begins to tickle.

Your giggle prompts him to raise his head, watery eyes threatening tears when he hears that sweet sound bubble up from within you. His hand curls over your own, trapping you in his grasp as though little else matters to him more than the need to touch you in some way.

“You have kind eyes.”

“I am not kind.”

You shake your head at that, flicking your thumb across the top of his burly hand, marveling at the smooth skin of his scars and the rough texture of the hair that dots his knuckles.

“You’re sweet to me, and that’s all that matters.”

It could have been a mistake, how easily you’ve taken to this bizarre titan. Any lady with proper regard for her standing and womanhood assuredly wouldn’t have said something like that to a beast that has the stature and the scent of something wild.

Still, the words leave your lips far too quickly to draw back; he responds with an urgency.

You find yourself pulled ever closer by the iron grip on your hand, tugged into the rug-turned-mattress by this man as he cages you in to meld against his chest. He’s everywhere, warm and burning against the chill of your skin with flesh touched by hellfire.

You only sigh pitifully when his arm wraps around your waist. When was the last time you had even felt an embrace? You couldn’t recall, and even if you had, it would have paled in comparison to one such as this. You breathe him in like a summer’s breeze, tasting a hint of the apple orchard beyond on your tongue when you open your mouth to speak once again.

“See..?”

The tension in his muscles seems to melt away; if your heart is like a hare then surely his must be more akin to a bull. It takes some time before he softens entirely against you, despite his initiation. His breath is almost a pant when his hand trails upward along your back, feeling every ridge and dip and curve, breath catching in wonder as you allow it.

“You are soft like…”

His head dips to press into your shoulder, breathing you in, humming his approval at the mingling scent of clock oil and tea leaves that lingers on your skin. Even from beneath the hood, you can feel the way his lips brush over you, his mouth parted in a voiceless plea.

“… like one of the flowers.”

It’s almost torture really, how someone could be so comforting, so endearing.

His hand trails further, drifting over the backside of your dress to curl against your thigh threatening something if you don’t conjure the sense to stop him. It stokes the fire within you, glowing ember in place of a brain, it seemed. You feel weak, lost in a foreign touch and sweet, clumsily spoken words.

If the townsfolk could see you now, herded up in this stranger’s arms, surely they wouldn’t dare to cast any disapproval your way. Not one of those meek little devils would have a word to say… not now or ever again.

“You’re like… a tree then,” you whisper as you finally will yourself to twist away from the grip, already mourning the loss of warmth as a cold wind filters through the openings in the cabin.

He doesn’t sulk as you pull away, only seems content to have been blessed with that much. That mist remains in his eyes before they shut again, willing himself to rise to sit up just as you do.

“Will you stay?”

You glance over the cabin again, with all of its dust and cobwebs. Your umbrella sits in the corner, propped upright with its handle leant against the wall, out of place amidst the dilapidation prevalent here.

This wasn’t a home at all, just a quiet, cold purgatory. Though the halls of your own may mock your solitude, this place seems to echo his very being: alone, broken, rotting and so, so very cold.

Your heart bleeds as you weigh your options, expression growing sullen and torn. He notices, tentatively takes your hand again in an almost practiced way of providing comfort. Had he ever even…

Your thoughts begin to drift again, and you force yourself to settle on a choice. It’s not your heart that should be damned, but that horrid seed of doubt constantly burdening, stealing from, and clawing at you.

“I should get home, before the rain.”

“Verstanden.”

“You can come too.”

There’s an audible hiss of breath through his teeth, that peculiar look of agony crosses his face again… and finally, he weeps.

———

König, you think to call him.

He teaches you German from time to time, in turn for you allowing him to watch as you work away at the clocks. It feels fitting in a way. Not because he harbors the self-importance of a noble figure, nor his stature; he’s simply become something impossibly important in the week long span you’ve spent together now.

You’ve decorated the guest room properly for him, and in turn he’s brought you firewood, foraged and hunted so that neither of you have had to bother with the town. The fire raged in the hearth as the cold continues to set in, and your walks to town have been enjoyable now. He accompanies you to the hill on some nights, draws you a bath when you come home, even cooks.

So… maybe a king was not entirely appropriate, but calling him a servant certainly wasn’t either. Even with the way he seems to melt and become docile at the slightest brush of your hand, the way you know with a certainty he would die for you if you spoke the word.

And still, you call him König: the king of your heart.

There are flowers at your windowsill each morning, still clinging to their roots. You bake the bread while he cooks stew with herbs gathered from the little garden just beyond the walls of the home, one he’s graciously told you he’s wanted to expand for you. Books you’ve overlooked for years have been read end to end by him, and he especially seems to like those with art of flowers drawn into their pages, always seeking you out to show you, explain their meanings, expressing the beauty that he sees in them and within you.

You don’t know where he’s come from, what his life was like before this, and with the same respect that he gives to you… you don’t ask.

“We’re starting a new story,” you had said the first morning over a breakfast of hastily made apple dumplings. To which he had agreed, with a somber hum, nodding his hooded head.

Though you do wonder about his secrets, his face. Seeing him now is all it really takes to make you smile.

He comes through the door, hauling in the massive grandfather clock that a carriage had left only this morning. The bob and the lyre both appeared broken at a glance, but your heart sinks when you read the name on the note left attached to it.

The same petulant little man that had stomped that poor watch to pieces right in front of you, no doubt he had broken this one too in some sort of tantrum. What was it now? Had the poor clock chimes a bit too loudly during the night? Was that deserving of a foot lodged right into its heart?

“König, do you mind just leaving it there?” You gesture toward the middle of the room, watching as the muscles beneath his shirt don’t even seem to ripple from exertion.

“Natürlich.”

As you set to work, pulling away parts, straightening out bends and replacing what’s broken, he kneels at your side watching with rapt attention. There’s no fixing the pendulum bob entirely, it’s far too bent and scraped, but you wouldn’t be replacing that with work of your own either. The bastard gets what he gets and that will do.

In truth, your work since having König here has only improved, and perhaps you’re showing off a bit, but the way he watches you tinker with the dusty old things as if mesmerized fills you with pride. You could fix anything, yes, with him at your side you wanted to.

The house doesn’t echo wasted time anymore, only that crowding feeling of something buzzing and chirping, budding up in the spaces where shadows should crawl: love. You wouldn’t trade it for the loneliness to return, not ever. A new sort of fear that stings just as much as it does caress.

So you work in silence, only breaking it to answer the sparse questions that he throws out.

When the clock is shoddily finished, you wipe the oil from your hands on a rag, and take König’s own large arm as it’s offered out to you to stand.

“I will carry it for you tonight,” he suggests, delicately brushing a bit of dust from your sleeve. His touch does linger, always lingers, trailing up to massage at your shoulder and cup at your neck. The swell of heat that arrives at your face then, the press of your thighs beneath your skirt… it’s always the same.

“I thought that you didn’t want to go into town?”

Your shoulder meets his chest as you press against him, doing very little to calm your body’s frustrations. The blood within you stirs like a violent wave feeling him this near— cleaned up and dressed in some patchwork conglomerate of your father’s old clothes. He smells like a union between the earth and sea, salt and alder leaf, a hint of thyme and lavender.

His eyes glitter when his gaze roves from your face to chest, hand skittering down to curl at the small of your back. To anyone else, you would look the picture of husband and wife perhaps.

“I would go anywhere with you.”

A fresh normal, like the rise of spring, those words and touches that suggest more: threatening while you plead in silence for him to just give you a push, unlace your dress and finally feel and see him properly.

“Then… yes, let’s get the cursed thing out of here tonight.”

His grip tightens around you just for a moment, fingers curling and flexing into the soft linen covering you, bunching it up just so at your back before he relents, draws away.

“You dislike this one?” König sounds almost hurt, perhaps he favored it, being tall and similar to him in some way. Another odd thing, hard to place, but he’s never seemed to like you talking down about your own work, a habit that needed breaking.

“No,” you begin to explain, curling your arms around his middle as you both stare at the thing, ticking quietly before you, “its owner is just a pain.”

“I can tell. You seem nervous, meine geliebte.”

“You haven’t taught me that one yet,” you point out, not playing coy, despite the look he gives you that suggests you know.

There’s always that ache when his eyes narrow and that playful glint reaches them. How someone could look as though they’ve suffered dozens of lifetimes of pain and still have that look, you did not know, but it excites you. A furious, needy excitement.

“Beloved,” is all that he says.

The stare relents as he heads back out into the garden, leaving you to sort yourself out.

———

“You’re sure that you can carry it the entire way?”

It’s not that you could help, really. The thing must have weighed as much as yourself, strung up over König’s back with a rope he had found lying someplace in the garden.

“Ja, it’s fine.” He’s not out of breath in the slightest either. You realize then that if you put on all your charms bending, arching and delicately maneuvering your hands to fix the clocks, the assuredly this was his way of doing the same. You try to reign yourself in from staring at the damp spot on his shirt, clinging to his broad expanse of chest, the way that his thighs seem to tense with each step forward.

You can’t— you merely trail behind him until you take the lead to bring him right to the other man’s doorstep. Your hands find the ropes that keep the clock saddled to König’s back, carefully untying them as he stoops down to let its wooden legs rest against the ground below. It scrapes, the consequence of being so heavy and forced to stand on those four tiny legs, and only then does it decide to make a cacophony of noise signaling the new hour, a trilling sort of bong that makes even your ears ring as it breaks up the silence of the night.

You don’t even need to knock, because the door flies open immediately. The man stands proud, unperturbed by your giant companion as he shoves past you to inspect his clock. There are no greetings, no pleasantries, and if you were just a bit more careless with your reputation, smacking him would have only brought you satisfaction.

“Not good, but it will do,” the little man huffs, knocking at the glass casing over the clock’s face with his knuckle. “Be a dear and have your friend bring it in for me.”

You’ve no doubt that König senses your annoyance as he cocks his head at you, but when you give a curt nod in response, he does what’s requested. The clock is set in a large den. It’s not as opulent and gilded as you had expected, just a simple home housing a very infuriating man. You watch from the doorway, swaying on your feet as König rights the clock and pushes it where he’s directed. Just a few more seconds and the two of you would be well on your way, and perhaps he would even teach you a new curse for a man like that.

He comes uncomfortably close to König’s side, a smug look plastered over his face that only seems to exaggerate just how greasy and mousy that you know him to be. Something is whispered that you can’t quite make out, a dare, a mocking taunt, something that pisses you off even without the knowledge.

The hood is pulled off by thin fingers, cast aside to the floor beyond the pair.

The man’s face goes pale before you even get a glimpse of König at all. He backs away, mouth gaping as König calmly moves to retrieve the cloth. You think you hear the word “monster” mumbled amidst a slew of incoherent babbling, but when your companion turns to face you, you feel no fear.

König’s face is like patchwork, scars connecting all together. They run like small streams up from his jaw and over his chin, splitting his lip at the corner of his mouth and dancing up to his eye. The nose is broken in places, several times over likely, crooked with a bump that only seems strangely cute. The unkempt hair lining his jaw should be trimmed, but… there’s no monster here. Only a man who has seen and felt pains that you could not bring yourself to imagine.

His head dips when he notices your wide-eyes stare, a sort of shame hidden away behind strands of long, black hair. He shuffles out of the house and shuts the door behind him, standing rigid as he expects the worst, for you to wail and sob and gather a group of townsfolk to herd him far away with fire and stones.

You only take his hand.

“Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t bother to hide himself away again during the walk back, his hand remains in your hold, trembling every now and then and gripping you tighter as he struggles with the thoughts no doubt raging in his skull like a storm. You offer your comfort as you lean toward him, head pressed against his arm even as you turn the knob and step inside.

You warm a bath for him then, a task that is no easy feat. König does not offer his help, resigned to some belief that this is only a temporary pity.

He allows you to peel away his clothes, graze your fingers over his body, over the scars all with a barely contained creature scraping out from inside: the untamed bull that you can not see. You press a kiss there, over his heart, feel it’s beating against your lips, pulling away only when his thumb strokes your cheek.

Each new sight of him is just as wonderful as they have always been. It’s not that you take pleasure in seeing the way he must have suffered; the now healed bullet wound over his abdomen speaks volumes of just what people are capable of when met with the sight of something that they do not understand.

The questions burn at the back of your skull, bitten back as your jaw tightens.

You help him wash with soap and a soft cloth, carefully removing any patches of dirt and dust that have lingered despite his near-daily bathing since living beneath your roof. The rough beard is trimmed in full, until all that’s left is a trail of dark stubble lingering along his jaw, broken up by scars like thin spider silk that make up the entirety of his body.

His hair is a mess, too, matted and clinging to his skull in wild clumps. You’re gentle with the brush as you free the tangles, clipping at what can not be saved with sharpened scissors, and massaging at his scalp as he murmurs his approval. It’s such a subdued, gentle cooing from his chest, a purr almost that shatters your heart and forces it back into place instantly.

Whatever he was or was not, you were certain this stray had never felt a touch like your own, if he had ever been touched by human hands at all.

König seems to settle greatly once you’ve tended to him and it does seem to finally dawn on him that you’re not repulsed, you’ve touched most of his damaged body, and have only brought him the gentleness that should have been commonplace by now. This isn’t some elaborate torture method— it’s only tender.

“Your turn, hm?”

That, however, brings you pause. Your hands rest on his shoulder, carefully trying to loosen a stubborn knot when you abruptly still. As if that were all he needed for encouragement, his hands cinch your waist, pulling you up and over the rim of the tub as you whine your protests in hushed little hisses. All for naught, as you find yourself submerged below the waist.

“I’m still dressed,” you sulk as the water dampens your dress, now seated between his parted thighs.

König only gives a laugh in response as his arms encase you in another embrace, his head resting against the dip between your shoulder and neck as his chest is brought to press against your back.

“And you’re still mine.”

His fingers trail further down to the wet fabric billowing amidst the soft, lapping waves of the water, pulling it up until it rests just above your hips. There’s no tact, only a clumsy sort of desperation rarely seen upon men, especially not of his stature.

You allow him to loosen the strands of lace at your back, bring your clothing up and over your head to leave it resting and dripping over the rim, pooling below onto the boards of the wooden floor. Your undergarments follow to join the flooding pile of soaked linen and lace.

You’re flustered certainly, grateful for the water surrounding that conceals the warmth that echoes your fondness for this titan between your legs.

You even considered that he would be more shy, not… as eager to begin to wash you, and not with the cloth but with his own hands, nimbly moving over every dip and curve coating you in the slick residue of soap, leaving suds in its wake. He starts at your shoulders, breath growing heavy the more you soften and relax against his chest.

It’s only a matter of time before his hands find and cup your breasts, and you swear that you can feel the grin that splits his face as you melt further against him. König gropes at and massages you there, eager fingers deliberately stroking at your hardened nipples until you quiver and sigh.

You find purchase moving your arms to your sides to grasp at his biceps, muscles flexing as he works his way down your trembling abdomen to your mound, kissing at your shoulder as you purr your encouragement.

The praises that leave your lips come tight and barely restrained as a finger trails against your slit, moving up to circle your clit before diving back down to prod at you.

Your head is gently tilted back by his free hand, your face peppered in clumsy, messy kisses as a digit sinks into you. It’s lazy work, trying to find a rhythm with your squirming. He only seems satisfied when it presses further, curling against the spot that makes you mewl sweetest, and finally, he kisses you full on.

It’s delivered as sloppily as his fingering, any trailing thought left in your skull dims, fuzzy with sheer bliss as his thumb begins to pet at your clit in tandem with each push and drag of his index. It doesn’t help that you feel his own growing need, hard and hot against your lower back, throbbing with each sound pulled from your mouth, his hips jerking on occasion to drag his shaft against your backside.

“König, we should get out,” you murmur through a flood of heat that curls and urges and presses at your lower half to seek some satisfaction, have him bed you proper. “We can go to—“

His mouth meets yours again, hungrier and more determined than before, the water rolling with each flick of his thumb. In a mere moment you feel that heat stoke to an inferno, blazing from your stomach to cause your feet to kick out, water sloshing over the side of the tub as you ride out each passing wave of paradise crying openly into his mouth.

When your trembling does subside, he kisses your cheek and pulls you up from the water, wrapping you up in his arms. His stare remains ever burning, pupils blown to a coal black, dreamy in the way he slinks back just to drink you in further. You can’t keep track of all of the places his eyes seem to dart, which touch to settle on and relish as he paws at you from chest to rear, as if mesmerized that you are no mere illusion.

You’re giving him everything; no longer the king of simply a beating organ tucked beneath your breast, but your body, bed, wherever he chooses to conquer next, of all the things that he’s been deprived of.

“We will go to bed, beloved,” he rasps, sounding more present than ever. The nightmares lurking behind his eyes have long past now: all focus is turned to you. You’re the only thing that’s ever loved him in return. “We will… become one.”

“Have you ever…” Your own voice fails you now, the evident want between you two incapable of making this any less… tedious. It was tedious, a flighty feathered thing that seems keen on slipping out of your grasp at any moment. If it were to be his first, surely it should be special, somehow, someway. If it were not… you dreaded that thought, a bitter envy sours on your tongue until it’s shaken off.

“No,” he states simply, shrugging.

Though a sense of relief seems to flood you at that, you dare not show it. You will take him to your bed, climb atop him and show him how these things work, a slow sort of love and the rest could wait.

It was foolish to believe that König would settle for such a thing, wild and only temporarily tamed by your sweetness: he is entirely different the moment you’re herded into the bedroom. The desperation of his touches has faded out entirely, replaced with what feels almost like a rage.

He wouldn’t take out humanities sins on you, no, but he would years of brutal neglect have left him starved and it just so happens that you’re an outlet for it, something to feed from by way of spilling his soul and his seed all into you, taken back with the kisses and praises that would surely come after this union.

You’re unceremoniously pushed onto the bed, lying at your side as he climbs in behind you. He whispers his requests into your hair, even as his hand wraps to pull your thigh up before you can bless him with a nod in response. He struggles for a moment, parting your labia with the obscene, ridiculous thing that hangs between his legs. It drags over you in repetition, oiled like the clock cogs before the head of his cock finally finds the opening his finger explored only minutes earlier.

You almost expect him to break you right then, force you to take what your body— no body- had surely been made for, but he only thrusts the tip inside and gives you some time to adjust, roll your hips down centimeter by agonizing centimeter.

“You are… Does it hurt you..?” His voice is a breathless pant, trying to hold himself together despite the daze he’s found himself in, buried not even three inches into your cunt.

“No… you can move,” you breathe out, eyelids fluttering as you tilt you head to look at him over your shoulder.

König clings to you as he sinks further, grasping at your waist to pull your further down, sharp breaths hissed between gritting teeth as he delights in the way your womanhood grips at his shaft.

Just as before, there’s no rhythm to him, he takes the sounds that leave you as a direction, huffing into your ear words that your mind could not hope to translate. There’s an indulgence to it, shared between you both as his hand curls tighter against your thigh, spread open and accepting of the brutal pace he takes to have just a taste of what it feels to be a normal man.

His words falter at a point, when you feel your body tightening around him, sucking him in, closer, nearer as your head lolls back. The inferno from before pales in comparison to the blaze that overtakes you now, his voice strained with bliss as you begin to moan for him. With each drag and soar of his cock spearing you open, you’re only brought further to a glimpse of Eden. If this were the fall of man, you find you couldn’t question Eve for relishing in it.

“… you gave me a name,” he rasps, “A home…”

All at once that glimmer of heaven crashes down around you, bathes you in the glow of something lofty and holy as he pulls you close and drives himself to the hilt within you. The throbbing and pulsing of his length pulls you over just as his seed spills within, drips thick and flooding as your own sex drools in tandem, sharing a perfect rapture both clandestine and sacred. He gives you another generous thrust, ensuring that he’s carved a space inside no other man could ever hope to fill.

You fret when you find him weeping, quiet tears rolling down his pale cheeks to spill over your shoulder, but the gentle smile on his face is pacifying as you twist around to face him. “And now you have my love.”

“I’ll cherish it,” he murmurs, voice broken and pitiful as you’re maneuvered upward to rest against the feather-stuffed pillows against the headboard.

You curl against him, head resting on his chest, an arm draped over his waist. He takes your hand into his own, appraising it like the first time you properly met. Hands of a maker. Your mind wanders to significance in that statement, the things that needn’t be told are finding ways to curtain you anyhow when he speaks again.

“Could you fix me?” He asks, tracing over the calluses on your fingertips, still bathing in the afterglow.

The question, though you felt it coming, still hurts to hear him speak it: breathing life into a thought that should have never existed to begin with.

“There’s nothing to fix.” Though you speak true, though you know he feels your sincerity, his eyes are heavy when he looks to you again. “Why would you ask me that?”

The story that he tells you then is one of horror. From his maker down to the things he’s done, seen, felt: hated from the moment he woke into this strange world, the horrible loneliness that pushed and bedded down inside of him like acceptance never would. The people that he’s throttled in some desire to finally have someone like him; men, women, it made no difference. All of it is bared with only one message eternally prevalent: he has only ever wanted to be loved.

In truth, he was a monster. Not because he was given the instinctual urge to be, but because it was all he knew. Gnashing teeth from demons hurling that word out with every stone they threw, every shot and stab at his heart.

You listen, despite the way it hurts, pull him a little closer when he ends his tale with your meeting, how he knew you were the only blessing he would ever receive in his lifetime— however long that may be.

You were good at fixing broken things, but König never needed to be fixed. Only found.

———

“Now you’re supposed to say it,” you hum, as his hands reach to the hem of the hood— his- covering your face. They rove beneath the fabric, curling against the skin of your cheeks, tracing small patterns there, some rotations like the clocks, others the childish hearts scribbled into books.

“I vow to take you as my wife.”

“You’re bad at this.” You giggle when he does finally push the cloth up past your nose, above your eyes and further until it’s pulled back like a veil.

“I will love you endlessly,” he continues, returning your noise of elation with a huffed laugh of his own. “I already do.”

“I love you, too.”

No one in town would ever properly marry you two, not if one look could make a weak man fall to his knees in horror, but here, beneath the roof of a home once echoing the same voice that haunts him… it was good enough. The moon seems to echo your vows with dancing rays, stars twinkling in approval as the calls of night birds carry through the open window.

There are no rings, no written formalities to be stored away with dust-ridden papers, preyed upon by mites. It’s far more sacred, genuine than the flippant affairs and arrangements that go on with those that would so readily cast the both of you aside. In truth— the thought of them rarely comes; doesn’t even rile up that intense fear inside of you any longer.

Everything only seems easier with the blooming garden outdoors, and the man who gazes upon you like he sees divinity itself behind your eyes, in the softness of your flesh.

When you kiss, it’s something from a fairytale, flowers strewn at your feet and the veil removed from your hair by a gentle hand.

Eden doesn’t seem so much like a memory lost to time, after all.

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction

[emomanswhore]

—♡ —SIMON SAYS . . . ❞

SIMON GHOST RILEY X FEM!READER

✯. !! Synopsis : so you like to play mind games with ghost? goodluck, cause hes got a few tricks of his own to beat these little charades of yours. when he comes home to remind you whos really the expert at games—simon says...your playtime is over

✯. !! WC : 8.3K

✯. !! Tags & CW : explicit content! (18+ mdni) - hard dom!Ghost (he’s rlly mean), bratty! reader, sex tapes, masturbation (male & fem), choking/asphyxiation play, creampie, mating press, squirting, rough sex, spanking, subtle sir kink, size kink/difference, degradation, manhandling, orgasm denial, praise/petname usage, dumbification, dirty talk, (maybe?) prey and predator play, the mask stays ON. <3

✯. !! A/N : first fic and guess what, i wrote with my pussy on this one. hope you enjoy !! lmk what y’all think <33

Maybe this wasn’t your smartest choice in life.

Whether it's the sobering reality of sitting in the after-guilt of praying for negativity, or a complete backfire that could've made things entirely worse—most times, an action made purely from spite and pettiness, never ends up well.

This was one of those times.

Where guilt and the possibility of a backfire merged into one—a single, enormous, dark mass of gut bubbling anxiety.

You were given very, very simple instructions only a few days prior to this moment. And yet, all because your last few messages to your boyfriend were being left unanswered and open on seen, your willingness to take matters into your own hands—to finally get his attention, brought you more than you bargained for.

You had no idea what was truly in store for you once you decided to misbehave and break one of his very simple rules.

You missed your boyfriend, and while he was technically home from work for the week, he still had to go into the city for a few days to handle some business. And of course, for about fifteen minutes at the doorway, you kept fussing at him for leaving when he just got back home.

While it was certainly endearing to see how much you wanted him to stay, this was very important business he had to take care of. So all he could do was offer you a kiss on that pout you put up on your puffed up face. And as usual, you ate up every little crumb of attention despite not showing it.

“Shouldn’t take me that long before I’m comin’ back,” he pauses and looks at you, already knowing that glint in your eyes means that little brain of yours is up to no good.

He couldn’t afford to be distracted by you and have shit go to all hell. Not until business was handled.

He moves in a little bit closer so you can really see the seriousness in his gaze, tilting your chin up a bit to meet eye to eye. “Just keep your manners in mind while I’m away for a bit. I will be back sooner than you think, so that means no funny business out of you.”

You wish you could deny the implication of him saying you don't respect his space while he was out at work. But truth be told, you did want him to stay home for as long as he could. And the mere fact that work was being put over you, made an ugly bile of jealousy creep up your throat.

Luckily, your boyfriend was smart enough for the both of you, so he already knew you’d throw a fit over him choosing work instead of being at home. To take the edge off the situation, he once again pressed a soft kiss to your pouty lips. Like clockwork, you immediately folded from the little gesture of intimacy he gave you and he could feel the pout dropping from your lips instantly.

“But you’re my good girl, aren't you? ‘Yknow how to behave till I see you again don’t you, little miss?”

And weak you were, as you tucked your lips into your mouth and nodded all doe eyed up at him. When he lifted an ashy eyebrow up at the lack of your vocal response, you blink up at him all pretty and promise a, “Yes sir, I understand.”

“Atta girl.” and that's the last thing he rasped, before turning the knob to your front door and exiting in total silence as if he were never even there.

That was two whole days ago.

You really missed him.

That reasoning alone is what you kept telling yourself was enough justification to tease him and send a very lengthy video of you masturbating while he was away from home. 

A video you impulsively sent to your boyfriend, Simon Riley, or what most only knew to call him by, Ghost. 

A mystery of a man and the textbook definition of an enigma, who only brought more questions than answers everywhere he went. No one knew too much about Ghost, not even what the man’s true identity was underneath the infamous skull balaclava he never left the house without. The very few people in his closest inner circle, or whom he had some sort of mutual trust and respect for, usually asked the same questions when it concerned you:

How did such a recluse man manage to get himself a woman?

Doesn’t it get tiring, trying to figure out what's really going on in his head?

Out of all the men you could’ve been in a relationship with, why choose a man who could possibly never come back home?

Well, it wasn’t an easy start to your relationship with Ghost. Like most people brought up, the man came from years of solitary and preferably worked independently. It took well over six years to get yourself where you are now with him, and there were plenty of times where you two experienced hardships in your relationship. Sometimes his straightforward and blunt attitude really infuriated you, and sometimes your stubbornness and hard-headed tendencies deeply vexed him.

But the two of you learned so much while spending time together and bonding. Eventually you both came to a mutual understanding, that communication and respect was the biggest key to keeping your relationship stable. 

Ghost only demanded the utmost respect, and you could live with that as long as he talked to you and vocalized what was really on his mind. Sure, there were still plenty of things he wasn’t quite ready— or ever willing, to voice out loud about himself, but it never wavered the deep adoration and love he had for you. 

He trusts you. You know he does when you’ve had late nights that you both lay in bed together, sharing stories and telling each other lame jokes as he gazes softly at you. Everyone knew who Ghost was, but you? You were the only one in the world who knew Simon, and earned all your rights to see just who the man under the mask was.

You are the light of his world, and as much as he hates to indulge into what you call your “Princess treatment”— or what he better calls “Bein’ a proper little rotten brat”, he almost always gave into your ways. It was all harmless fun and playful banter when you went out of your way to make things difficult for Simon. That was fine though, since it always only took one trip to the bedroom to remind you of where your place was.

Hell, you were one insatiable jezebel. You both knew that secretly, this little game of cat and mouse was just another way you kept yourselves entertained for years now.

That’s why you thought almost nothing of it, unlocking your phone as you rested your back against the polished quartz granite of your marble sink countertop. Humming the melody of a song that lowly vibrated out your living room’s speaker, nails making sharp click clicks while you played around with your device to get to the photo gallery app. Well, to a certain little part of your photo gallery that was only for Simon and your eyes.

You always did have an interest in film and photography, and you used that hobby of yours to make a few collections of sex tapes with your man. It was something you both found to be very entertaining and highly stimulating to your sex drives. Sometimes even shooting another movie while an older one played in the background on your TV.

Your leg started bouncing as you traced your bottom lip with your tongue, taking the time to look and reminisce on each and every little thumbnail of the videos. I miss him, you exhaled deeply out your nose, already feeling that heavy ache between your legs as you practically salivate like a dog in heat. Fixating your drooping eyes onto one particular thumbnail of just him— you remembered this, how could you forget? 

A hard, grueling day at work, when Simon couldn’t even fake like he was completely nonchalant and able to disassociate from his own need for you. All he wanted was to come home to that pretty little face of yours and show you how much he missed you. So that day he let all shame and pride in his body leave, as he sent his own video for you… in its entirety of ten whole minutes.

Ten whole minutes of his phone’s camera slightly coming in and out of focus, as he sloppily fucked his own hand. Keeping an iron grip on the pounding base, so you could really see how much he wished you were there, without him releasing into his palm too early before he could make his message apparent to you.

"Fuuckk… Fuckin’ christ…" Simon hissed through his teeth, the egg shell skull plate stitched on top of the thick knitted mask slightly muffled his voice. If anything, the loudest thing in the room was the slick wet sounds of his hand roughly working on his shaft, completely coated in the pre-cum that leaked heavily from the flushed and angry tip.

"Fuckin’ need you, princess. Look at what you do to me… fuck— ‘m gonna show you—" He groans deep from his chest, tilting his head back so far that you catch a peak of his exposed thick neck. Dark veins bulging and pulsing through his skin, as he twists his hand tighter on his cock, "Show you what that pretty little pussy deserves. ‘Gonna treat it real fuckin’ good when I get my hands on you."

You felt your panties starting to stick against the twitching lips of your core, now whimpering at just the memory alone of what happened in the rest of that video. 

It wasn’t fair.

How could he have so much power over you, to make you literally wet your panties from just the thumbnail of a video? 

It's so not fair. 

Not when you miss him, and want him so badly—  but he still hasn’t come home yet or updated you on where he was. It’s almost like he wasn’t even thinking of you at all. Like he didn’t even miss you-

Wait. 

Like in the scene of a child’s cartoon, you swore you heard a ding! And saw the hot flash of a lightbulb pop over your head. Yes. Yes, that's it! 

Your fingers worked faster than the better judgment of your self conscious did, as it took you another few scrolls down to get to the most recent solo video that you made. The one you made only a few days before Simon came home. The one he never got the chance to see. And as humble of a person you believed you were, you couldn’t deny how enticing you looked in the thumbnail of the video.

 It was perfect, too perfect for the little trick you had up your sleeve. 

The camera propped up against the little fort you made out of your pillows, aimed perfectly to capture you lying on your back on the king sized mattress. A pillow— Simon’s pillow, under your lower back to lift your hips up. Just enough for the camera to focus solely on the dripping, wet heat between your widely spread thighs. 

Your pussy practically leaking like a faucet, as you drag your ring and middle finger in and out your tight, gummy walls. Fucking yourself so sloppy that juices run out your gushing pussy, trailing down your hole, and all over simon’s pillow.

It’s a mess… from the little puddle you left on his pillow— that’ll surely stain, to your cum sticking like a web in between the tight trap of your messy cunt, and to the garbled whines you let out. A siren’s melody of your sweet voice, whimpering mixes of ‘simon’ , ‘miss you’ and unintelligible words that only make your soft cries all the more enchanting and hypnotic.

Even then as you rewatched the video, you couldn’t help but gaze in awe at how pretty your faces of pure pleasure were, and how good your pussy looked glistening in the low lighting. 

Mhm, this’ll do alright. With more click clicks on your phone’s screen, you found yourself glaring down at your last message to Simon— still left as seen. 

That was alright though. You could bet a million dollars on this next move of yours, and walk away with full confidence that this current plan is the right move to take. With that being said, you clicked the little plus symbol next to the text message box and scrolled through the attachment options until you found the ‘photos’ selection. 

You clicked on your video and made quick work of attaching it to a message you also impulsively typed into the box. Not a single thought ran through your mind in that moment, the pounding of your heart and your pulse thumping in your throat blocking all second guesses. You couldn’t stop now. 

Fuck it.

One more click, and the next thing you know… you were staring at the thumbnail of your head thrown back into your pink, plush pillow. Eyes rolled completely into the back of your skull, and fingers dug deep inside your soaked cunt with Simon's pillow mushed underneath your ass. It was saturated so deeply that the formally navy blue pillow took on a deeper, almost black shade.

And what sat at the bottom of your video, was only the icing on your tooth rotting cake.

sent: miss u baby <3 come home now or i’ll keep playing w out u

You must've been stuck so deep in some sort of trance— one that filled you with a sudden dark swirl of unease that curled its way up from your belly and all the way into your throat. This trance kept you still for a moment, until you jumped out of your skin and almost dropped your phone on the kitchen floor from a sharp buzz! 

Blinking a few times and putting your hand on your chest to keep your heart from leaping out your body, you refocused your blearing eyes on the open message inbox. Except now, your text moved up a little to make room for the new one that just entered the chat. 

Your message— no, your video was marked as seen. 

But the message your boyfriend replied with left you feeling very ill from just it's three little words, you thought you were finally looking forward to see:

seen: stay right there.

You swallowed the saliva that sat heavy on your dry tongue. Feeling that familiar thump, and deep ache in your core start to resurface once again. 

Maybe today wasn't the day for a silly little game with Simon.

No matter how long you spent your next few hours completing errands around the house, you couldn’t make enough distractions for your mind to stop thinking about what transpired earlier. 

As much as you wanted to feel bad that your little video may have caused some trouble for Simon, while he was at work— the bubbling swell of pride inside you, made a cheshire-like grin curl on your face.

It was finally happening.

Damned work or the ‘business’ he had to go settle. You finally got him to look at his phone. To look at you, and without a single doubt in your mind you just knew that thumbnail alone must’ve thrown him off from whatever he was so busy doing.

But now you were the one that was stuck at home, lying in wait for him to come show you what was truly in store for you.

Stay right there.

What did that really mean?

Was it literal? Did he believe that you recorded that video in real time, and expected you to wait for him in that same lewd position ? Or was it a warning for you not to try running away from home, before he could finally make his grand appearance. 

You doubted it was the latter, since you never ran from dick. So what could make him think you’d start now? 

All you could think about for the rest of your afternoon was just what he was up to, and when he was coming to you. Sitting in the house alone only made your imagination run wilder and wilder. 

You couldn’t live like this.

The anticipation was eating you alive. And it took every fiber of will and strength to not send him another one of your videos, so he’d get the message and hurry up. You already gave him enough power from almost coming in your panties from just the memory of him pleasuring himself. You were trying to prove that you always come out on top of these games of yours. And there was no chance you’d submit to the temptation of begging for an answer to his cryptic message.

So you figured the healthiest way to cope and keep your mind off things, was to cook. Not just any meal either— but some of Simon’s favorite dishes that you make for him. Even if you were still a little frustrated by him ignoring you the whole morning, you still wanted to cater to your man. After all the old saying does go, ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’. And your endgame was to have a hot meal ready for him once he comes home, then finally get him to jump your bones after waiting for so long. 

It was going to be another night that starts off with Simon showing you how big and bad he is, fucking the brattiness out of you, and ending it off with tender pillow talk. Even just fantasizing of how easy it is to make him drop everything to come running home to you, has your confidence sky rocketing through the roof.

As you prepped your ingredients, you plugged in earbuds and maxed the volume up to the highest it could go. Next to cooking, music was always the best way to stimulate your brain and keep your head full of happy thoughts. The two went perfectly together, and you sang outloud to yourself while concentrating on the strenuous task of slicing cabbage into slivers. 

Your music was slowly lowering itself as it came to an end. And just before the volume died down completely and transitioned onto the next song–

You heard it before you could see it.

A set of heavy thump thumps making the floorboards creak and rumble, approaching fast from behind you. 

Next thing you knew, a heavy and hot palm wrapped around the back of your neck and practically knocked the wind out of you, with how violently your whole body was whipped around backwards. Before your mind could register the sharp throb of your lower back hitting the edge of the sink, an audible gasp squeaked its way out your throat. 

There he was. Simon was home.

The signature skull balaclava and smudged charcoal coating his face under the dim kitchen light, made him all the more terrifying. And with the way he towered over your much smaller form, all you could do was stare up at him as if you were some dumb little deer caught in headlights.

His eyes were casted down so low, so dark, so devoid of emotion that he almost seemed soulless. Here stood the empty husk of the same man who murmured a soft ‘you’re my good girl, aren't you?’ after pressing a slow, honeyed kiss against your lips. 

You make a weak attempt to play off how excited you actually were. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing out loud in his presence. Mustering a shaky chuckle, as you tried to ignore the light press his finger tips made against your throat.

“H-hey baby. God, you scared the shit out of me. Y’know you can’t do that to me while I've got this knife in my hand.” 

Obviously Simon could care less about your little rambing, his silence spoke the loudest between the two of you.

 He continued to apply light pressure, steadily flexing his fingers deeper and deeper into your neck, so he could hear the way your stuttering voice hitched from the slight lack of oxygen. His eyes trailed down to your plush lips, and dragged even further down to shamelessly gaze at the enticing way your cleavage sat in that little lace camisole. You weren’t wearing a bra, and he could make out the perfect outline of your nipples pressing against the fabric of the dainty cloth.

And of course he saw it. The little lift of the corner of your mouth, then the way you crossed and pressed your inner thighs together.

All not-so subtle telltale signs, that you thought this was still some little game that you thought you were the genius mastermind of. 

“Anyway, you ruined my surprise for you,” and you still kept your fucking mouth running. “I know you’re probably exhausted, so i started dinn-”

“Only thing you should be starting right now, is makin’ your way upstairs. Get everything you’ve got on, off. ‘Wanna see your ass up and ready for me, by the time i get my shoes off.”

Oh. 

Oh. That shut your mouth up, real quick.

The abrupt way he cut you off completely, and the fact that those were the first words he’s said to you all night has you gaping up at him like fish. 

He only stares back at you with blank indifference. You can only give him that stupid little look, before you snap out of being stunned and continue to try talking your shit and having some control over him.

“O-oh but i was just—”

“_____” The sudden boom of his baritone voice raising, knocked whatever rest of words you had sitting on your tongue. No princess or sweet girl— just your full name in its entirety, that sounded almost like a curse with how venomously he spat it out. 

It was slowly starting to dawn on you, that this was becoming a very dangerous situation you got yourself into.

Your shock must’ve been extremely apparent to Simon, so he let the tension sit thick in the air of the room. Really making you feel the severity of the situation that was transpiring. All you could do was stare up at him, all doe eyed and pull your wobbling bottom lip into your mouth as he took two more steps forward. Somehow you were able to keep some of your courage in check, looking him up in the eye even as his head hung down to glare down at you. 

“_____” he finally continued his words, again starting with your name, only in a lower guttural tone. “You are in no position to fuck around with me right now. Only ‘gonna say this to you one more time, before things get worse for you as it is— go upstairs, take off everythin’ you’ve got on and lay on the bed with your ass up. Don’t want another peep out your mouth, ‘less you wanna see what happens when you’ve thoroughly tested my temper. Wouldn’t want that now, would you, sweetheart.”

Simon drummed his fingers against your neck one more time, before he finally released it and watched you let out a soft wheeze of air. He looked over your body one more time before he turned his back to you, the heavy footsteps of his steel toed boots echoed dully in your ear.

Oh. Was that your cue to start making your trip upstairs? 

Was that a test to see if you would even attempt to disobey him, when he has clearly had enough out of you for the night?

You loved a challenge. And even as you looked what seemed to be your demise in the eyes, you couldn’t help but feel a warm gush out of your core, come running down the side of your sleep shorts. 

One step he took towards the doorway, was another stride you took as you practically hurled yourself up the stairs.

5.

You skipped a few stairs on your way up, feeling your heartbeat hammering in your ear on the mad dash to your bedroom.

4.

Flinging your top off haphazardly in the middle of the hallway, you couldn’t help but look back a few times to see if he was trailing behind you. 

The pounding of your feet against the floor, deluded your ratting brain into thinking that it was actually Simon chasing you. The dull creaking of his heavy boots on the floorboards, still echoes in your head. 

3.

You nearly knocked the bedroom door off its hinges, with the way that you heedlessly flung it open. Your chest heavily rises and falls as you make quick work of getting rid of your soiled sleep shorts and panties. 

2.

Raw adrenaline courses its way through your veins, vibrating all the way from the bottom of your toes to the top of your tingling spine. You made it. You beat him.

 Simon could challenge you all he wanted, but he could never beat the tenacity that ran through your whole body. You smile to yourself, thinking you won the battle and proved to him that he had no more control over your mind and what was between your legs–

1.

You were very fast.

But Simon was even faster.

Boots be damned, he could catch up to you in an instant.

You let out a loud shrill shriek from the feeling of two hefty arms wrapping around your middle, and lifting you up into the air. Your world turns upside down— literally and physically, as you find yourself thrown over Simon’s strong bare shoulder, like you were some sort of light weighted object. 

“Times up,” You feel the deep timber of his voice, while your body helplessly dangles onto him for dear life. “Told you to have your ass up on the bed, by the time I got my shoes off.”

You kick your feet in objection— but immediately cease your protest and squeal, when his heavy open hand comes down hard on your naked ass cheek.

“Seems like you can’t handle or understand instructions today, can you, honey?”

His taunting coo’s only make you dizzier, after he so carelessly drops you face first onto the bed. Your body bounces lightly off the mattress and you whip your head around to glare up at him.

“I can understand!” you stubbornly argue back, watching him scoff and shake his head. “You cheated, I got here on time but you picked me up before I could do anything.”

Your eyes take in his current appearance– other than the mask he kept on his face, he stood before you in all his mountain of a man glory. 

He was so big. 

From the wide, broad shoulders that just carried all your weight on it, down to the lean and toned torso, sculpted with hard, rippling abdominal muscles.

You practically whimpered at how big and thick his thighs were. Almost ready to give in and beg him to let you trace your tongue on the rigid V cut of his abs, all the way down to the wisps of the dirty blonde happy trail on his pelvis… and get a taste of what you’ve been craving for the last few days.

His thick cock stood tall in the air, curving up a bit against his stomach from the weight of the heavy, fat, dark tip. There was already a bead of precum running down the side, where a prominent blue vein stood out.

You drool just looking at it. Your mouth waters and jaw starts aching, as if you’re ready to feel that hefty press of the head on your tongue.

Simon knew exactly what you wanted. How could he not know, with the way your eyes grew heavy and your lips slightly parted. 

“It's too bad, isn’t it?” he watches your lips part wider, as he uses the tip of his thumb to smear the little bead of precum across the length of the shaft. Fucking tease. 

“Could’ve been feedin’ you this dick, and lettin’ you get full off of it. ‘s a damn shame, you act like you don’t know how to do what you’re told. And you keep running that fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

You puff your cheeks at him and kiss your teeth, “It’s ‘cus y-”

Before you could even think up an excuse, Simon cracks his open palm on top of your left ass cheek. Your loud gasp is like music to his ears, and he moves in closer to press that same palm down your lower back until you’ve made a perfect arch for him. He kisses his teeth back at you, looking at the drooling lips of your pussy already making your inner thighs wet and sticky. 

Spanking isn’t an unfamiliar thing he’s done to you, but to this degree? The force in his hits did so much to you. The hot stinging pain of it makes you wetter by the second. 

“Still seems like I’m not makin’ it clear enough for you, _____. Don’t even know how to take yourself upstairs and lay like i told you to. That’s the problem with you,”

He removes his palm from the small of your back. Winding his hand back far, just to bring it down on your right cheek this time. “Spoiled you and that sloppy little cunt of yours rotten. Can’t even get a fuckin’ job done without you fussing at me.”

Simon continues alternating heavy handed smacks on both sides of your ass, not taking a single break between his assault on your cheeks. Talking out loud to himself, as if you weren’t writhing around and whimpering from his merciless punishment. 

“Know what happens— stay still, when you wanna act like a desperate little whore? ‘Get treated like one. ‘Wanna act like you can’t sit and wait like a good girl? i’ll bruise this ass so sore that you won’t be able to get out of bed.”

His ruthlessness almost seems endless, and you start to lose track of how many times he’s striked your cheeks. 

Your whimpering turns into full on moans, fully turning your face into the sheets to try suppressing the loud sobs you let out. 

But Simon pulls your head back by the back of your neck, squeezing the sides of your throat, and giving you an even deeper arch in your lower back. “Can’t hide from this, sweetheart. You’re gonna learn to take what’s given to you, and stop being so fuckin’ greedy all the time”

He finally shows mercy on your bruised and flaming hot cheeks, deciding he’ll let you off with twenty two this time. He should’ve taken you over his knee and made you count the spanks out loud, telling him why you deserved each and every one. 

But the truth was, he was almost as desperate as you. Hasn’t even been anywhere near your cunt, but you soak the sheets as if that's the only thing he’s been playing with. His dick bobbed and twitched, at just the thought of your velvety walls wrapping around him. 

“S-Simon,” you babble and blink away tears that sit on your lashes. “Please baby, ‘m so close. I need you.”

Again, he kisses his teeth at you before putting his hand in between your drenched inner thighs. Listening to you keen softly, as he uses his thick middle and ring fingers to spread your thick pussy lips open. Watching your hole spasm and clench over nothing. Your little clit sticks out all pretty and swollen, just aching to get some attention. 

“And why’s that, baby, hm?” You’re so messy that he’s able to slip in his two fingers, immediately finding that little spot that has you squealing and pushing your ass back for more. He uses his other hand around your throat, squeezing it tight as a silent warning for you to lay still. 

“Why should I let you cum, when you’ve been nothin’ but an ungrateful little slut?”

You could cry real tears from him edging you like this. It’s never taken this long for him to make you cum. 

All this was so unfamiliar. Simon never dangled your orgasm in your face, and made you wait like this. 

It was time to drop the tough girl act, and admit defeat. He won. If it was for the sake of needing this pounding ache in your tummy to be relieved, you’d do anything to prove you deserved it. 

“Baby pleeaassee,” You’re unable to hold back the hot tears of frustration from running down your face. “I'm sorry, ‘m so sorry baby. Just please, g-god im sorry.”

You can practically hear the sneer in his next words, your hysterical sobs getting more and more pathetic by the moment—

“God? What’re you saying sorry to him for? God isn’t here to save you, silly girl.”

You feel the hot tip of his cock hovering over your twitching folds. He takes his sweet, leisure time to swipe the head through the sloppy mess of your pussy. Purposely avoiding the neglected little pearl, as he runs the tip up and down on your pussy. Getting it nice and wet before he’s pushing half of himself inside your sensitive, gushing walls. 

“But i’ll show you what heaven looks like, since all that’s been on your pretty mind, is gettin’ this little cunt of yours beat raw.”

Simon starts off at a brutal pace, pulling himself all the way out of your tight heat, before slamming all the way in. When he bottoms out inside you, your ass jumps and slaps against his strong thighs, making a sloppy plap. The bed rocks and groans, from the sheer ferocity and force he uses to split open your soaking pussy. 

Your voice belts out your throat, coming out as shrill squeals and moans. You go to reach your hand back to push yourself away from the deep strokes he gives you, but he grabs your wrist and pins it behind your back. 

“Don’t fuckin’ move.” You never ran from dick before but this? It was too much. So much that you could hear the loud sloppy squishes of your contracting walls, working and squeezing around his length. The feeling of it all, sending you into hot waves of burning pleasure. Letting him have his way, and fuck you like he detested you. 

“Yeah that’s right, don’t fuckin’ move, or speak. Y’hear that? Only thing I wanna hear is how good this slutty cunt talks to me.”

All you can do is lay there and take it. He lets go of your neck, to snatch your arm and pin your other wrist behind your back. His thick forearms flex, the veins in them protruding out his skin as he uses some strength to rock you back and forth by your arms. You fear your arms may pop out the sockets, with the way he uses both of your arms as leverage to keep your body up and ready to meet his deep strokes. 

Your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your skull, with the way he fucks his fat cock into the depths of your core. You cry and sob a familiar melody that has Simon gritting his teeth, fucking into you at an even faster roll of his hips. 

“Know what this reminds me of,” His voice comes out as a deep rasp. He bows and leans his weight over on top of your poor little body, so he can press your face into the bed. Turning your face to the side, so he could continue murmuring into your ear.

 “Makes me think of that little video you sent. Reason why you’ve gotten yourself in so much trouble— ooh, naughty fuckin’ girl. Squeezin’ around me so nice. Y’like knowing I saw you act so sweet on camera for me? I was around my men when you sent it to me. Had to stop what I was doing, so I could see what you wanted from me so badly.”

You could barely understand what he was talking to you about. The deep rumbling of his voice, lulling you into an empty head and going dumb on his dick. 

All your fucked out little mind could do was blindly whimper and nod, just trying to focus on how the vein on the underside of his dick rubbed so good against your walls. You were so fucking close, you just needed more. 

“L-love you baby, mmm. I’m sorry,” You felt him lift a little off your body, and took the opportunity to turn your head more so you could keep eye contact with him. “Jus’ miss you so much, b-but i promise i won’t bother you. I won’t do it again. Swear baby, I swear.”

He only grunts in response, feeling his cock throb and get squeezed after he knocked the tip into your special little spot. “Only sayin’ all that because you need to cum. I can feel how close you are, princess. You’re gonna have to just wait ���till I'm done having my fun.”

Despite that leaving his mouth, he grips your hips tightly before pulling all the way out. He shushes you as you let out another hysterical sob, and gets completely off the bed to go move closer to the edge.

 Honestly, if he left you alone like this you wouldn’t even mind. 

You thought a prayer to god for forgiveness. This abuse on your poor little pussy, was enough to make you ask for repentance. Never again would you make yourself go through this, and you silently begged that Simon would see the light too so you could be forgiven already. 

But apparently, god was not on your side today.

You felt his strong hand grab your ankle, and drag you down by the end of the bed. You started to complain until you were roughly turned to lay on your back. Now, you could properly see your boyfriends face— well, mask and the exposed eye portion of the balaclava.

You could see some sweat from his exertion, had ended up smudging off even more of the charcoal on his face. He only stared down at you, before he put both hands on your thighs and pushed them up until your knees squished against your chest. 

At this point you could only let him do whatever he wanted to your body. Not a single ounce of fight left in you as he settled between your folded legs, and started speaking to you. 

“Remind me again now, sweet girl. Whose pussy is this? Hm?”

You blink once, then twice. Even with the question being asked again, in an even slower way for you to comprehend, you simply couldn’t. Your brain was short circuiting, completely burnt out and purely running on the raw dopamine buzzing in your mind. All it could manage in that moment, was the soft mewl of a mmm that let itself out from the depths of your throat. 

Your mind so fuzzy, that the words ‘sweet girl’ coming from him only made you think of times of love and adoration. Times when Simon would make love to you; caressing your body, exploring and marking every single curve and inch, cooing praises into your ear.

 That’s it, theres my sweet girl. ‘Look so good takin’ all of me like a champ. Want everyone to see how good i treat my princess, when she fucks me so well. Gonna fill you right up, just how you like it. 

Only now, you weren’t being spoiled and made love to like his special girl would. 

You were some filthy little whore, and getting the treatment a bitch in heat deserved the most. A dumb one at that, and all Simon could do is chuckle to himself, shaking his head at how sloppy and stupid you looked. Not even the damn mutts in heat at the base, got silly like you were at this moment. 

“_____ ,” Simon slapped his open palm twice on the side of your cheek, listening to you whine softly before using the same hand to squeeze the sides of your cheeks until your lips puckered out. “_____ , focus right here— that’s it, right here. Listen to me baby, unless you don’t wanna cum tonight, you’re gonna stop wastin’ my time and talk to me nice.”

With what little brain fuzzy cells you had left to help you speak, you nodded and spread your thighs wider so he could see your swollen, glistening pussy and untouched clit. 

“ ’s all yours, Simon. It all belongs to you, so please help me cum. Pleeasse baby, I-I need it so bad.”

That must’ve been what he wanted to hear. 

 Simon plunges right back into the heat of your walls that welcome him in with ease. Only with this new change of position, you get filled in even deeper now. 

No running. You’re trapped and overwhelmed by the heat that radiates off his body, as he uses his heavy weight to fold you in half and press you deep into the creaking mattress. You can see over your tummy, just what he looked like when he battered the insides of your pussy. You’re forced to watch him dig his cock in and out of you. Hiccuping and sobbing at the sight of a creamy translucent ring made of your cum, completely coating the base of his length. 

“That’s right baby,” His heavy balls slap sloppily against your ass. The sounds of your skin clapping together, and his baritone murmuring echo in your ears. “Pussy belongs to me. So you don’t tell me when it’s time to come home and play with it. You wait for me and behave, when I tell you to. Understand?”

You shake your head, not paying attention to a single word he utters. The only thing you can focus on is the way he drops his dick perfectly into the spot you need him the most. 

“Ohh fuck- fuck, fuucckk,” You let out strings of curses, your legs already getting numb from being squeezed down so tightly against your tits. Drool fills your mouth and runs down the side of your lips. You can feel the bubbling sensation in your womb of your orgasm approaching. Your babbling gets sloppier and less coherent, as you feel his dick twitch inside of you. 

“Fuck yeesss, yes S-Simon. ‘Understand, promise I’ll wait and be— oohh… uhuh, right there, b-be good for you. It’s only for Simon. Whatever Simon says, it’s all for you”

“Shit.. that's it. There’s a good girl,” He groans deep from the bottom of his chest at your words, grabbing you by the throat and pulling your head up off the mattress so he can look into your glossy eyes.

Simon pulls his mask up, just enough to where the top of the cupids-bow of his lips starts. He flicks his tongue over the bottom of his lip, before he leans in to press his mouth against your open one. He swallows the wanton moans that come squeaking out your lips, moving his hand up from gripping your throat to cup your jaw. 

“Easy girl,” he mumbles inside the heat of your mouth, feeling your legs start to shake harder now. “Relax, you can take it. Take everythin’ I give to you and let me— shit ‘m close, let me fuckin’ fill you all the way up, princess.”

He reaches between your sweaty bodies to finally give your neglected swollen clit the attention it deserved. He uses the tip of his fat thumb to rub it in circles, grunting when he feels your pussy squeeze around cock. It was as if your body was trying to pull him all the way in, and never let him escape the gushing caverns of your walls. 

Simon removed his hand from your jaw, using his now free hand to press down hard on your soft lower belly. 

You shake your head in resistance, already knowing how messy you were gonna make this if he continued on like this. He must’ve known what you were thinking, shaking his head back at you and having no regard for your little babbles and sobs for mercy. 

“Let it out _____. C’mon, show me what a sweet girl looks like when she knows how to make a mess all over this dick.” 

The little band in your core snaps, and you swear you heard a little pop! from deep inside of you. 

You both feel it before you see it. Lips practically sealed together, and you both let out guttural groans in each other’s mouths at the feeling of your pussy spraying cum and juices everywhere. You made it real messy, drenching Simon’s stomach and splattering your ecstasy on top of the comforter of the bed. 

And at the same time, Simon snatches his lips from yours to let out a long series of curses. You feel his cock twitch violently from the depths of your insides, letting out a soft mewl when you feel the tip painting your walls and shooting out thick ropes of cum.

You nearly black out from the high you get from coming so hard. The whole room seems like it’s spinning, your hearing fades in and out, with static like white noise shrilling into your eardrums. All your senses are heightened, and you feel so overwhelmed by your vision getting blurred and fuzzy, that you decide it’s best to close and rest your eyes.  

Apparently you did end up blacking out. 

Jolting awake and blinking the blurriness from your eyes, you sit up from your position tucked underneath a new comforter set— you can’t even recall how you managed to make yourself comfortable in bed, or how you wound up in a new pair of clean underwear. 

You think you get the answers to your state of confusion, when you see Simon sitting by the edge of the bed with his bare back turned towards you. 

Oh, okay. He must’ve cleaned me up and changed the sheets after I fell asleep. 

Without turning around and facing you, Simon calls for you and tells you to come closer to where he sat. You huff, begrudgingly pulling yourself from the cozy warmth of the cotton blanket and crawl across the bed to where he was. 

“Baby, I’m so hungry” You pout, giving his bare shoulder a soft kiss before you go to roll yourself off the bed. “We should try ordering from that place Soap keeps talking about. I think the menu’s downst—”

“That can wait,” He grabs your wrist and pulls you back onto the bed, it’s so abrupt that you make a squeak of surprise when you tumble back down on your back. “Still got something we have to finish.”

He sees the utterly puzzled look you give him and can tell just how lost you were at this moment. Simon rises from the bed, towering over you and hums at the sight of you looking up at him with wide, expectant doe eyes.  

Since this is the first time he’s actually facing you from the front, you notice he holds a sleek, black handheld camcorder. Where did he get that from ?

Again, Simon reads you like an open book and starts explaining just what he was up to. 

“On my way home, this little thing here caught my eye and reminded me of something,” He turns it over on its side, inspecting it before he presses his thumb down on the power button to turn it on. “Made me think of how I had to leave from where I was at, and missed a vital proposal for work. Set back my plans, all because of the little video you decided to send to me.”

You gulped, already knowing where this conversation was leading to. You can feel a pounding in your core, your underwear starting to stick to your heat from the little bit of excitement that came gushing out of you. 

 “Since you do love your little films, you’re gonna make another one just for me. Somethin’ real nice, and a good reminder for what happens when you think about pullin’ another stunt like today.”

Simon pulls down the band of his grey sweatpants, his hard cock springing up and bobbing back and forth before it curls up against his navel. He sneers at how quick you are to roll off the bed, kneeling on the carpet to get on your knees before him. 

There was no changing or fixing the insatiable little minx that lived inside your body. 

“Now, eyes on me princess,” he aims the camera down at your face, flicking his eyes from your own half lidded ones down to the screen of the camera. “You’re gonna start off with ‘Simon says I’ve been a filthy little slut and been on my worst behavior’. Then, you can show the camera you know how to act like a good girl and apologize.” 

You nod your head, already going dumb from the commands he rasps. When he tilts his head down and lifts a brow up, you give him an audible yes sir and rub your inner thighs together in anticipation for what you’re about to do.

“S-simon says–” you pause, dragging your eyes up from the camera and into Simon's own eyes. 

You are a good girl. And as a good girl should, you made sure you kept your manners in mind, so he knew how sorry you really were. 

“Simon says I've been a filthy lil’ slut, and on my worst behavior,” you lean in close to his cock, looking him in the eye as you plant a slow soft, short kiss on the tip. Greedily licking up the bead of precum that caught onto your lips, feeling the little jump his cock makes against your mouth.

“So ‘m gonna show him I'm a good girl, and apologize like his sweet girl should.”

/tagging\ . . . @touyyes(<3) @noriken @hellavile @munsonsins

#ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty smut

[justanerdy-gal]

"Do You Resent Me?" (Astarion x Tav)

-> pairing: Astarion x Tav -> content: fluff/angst -> summary: In which Tav wonders whether Astarion resents her for convincing him to choose to reject the Black Mass ritual and not Ascend. Full of angsty fluff.

-> notes: The finished version of the WIP I posted yesterday. Astarion & Tav draws all the angst and cheesy fluff out of me 🥹

——————

“Do you resent me?”

Astarion looks up, wearily, from the corner of the Elfsong Tavern room that they had been staying in for some time now.

“Darling….what would I have to resent you for…?”

You slowly walk over to his corner of the room, and sit beside him on the edge of the bed. You observe him as he turns his gaze over to the hands in his lap.

“It…just feels like…you may have made your choice because of…me.”

Astarion turns his head to look back at you, betraying nothing in those crimson eyes at the moment, but listening.

“If I wasn’t around….you would have been free to make the choice you always wanted,” you continued, your eyes glassing over as you ponder the thoughts that have been plaguing you since the moment Astarion made his choice in the Szarr palace.

“The freedom that you always craved… did I take that away from you?”

Astarion’s eyes widened as you made your declaration.

“You… think it wasn’t the right choice?”

“Not that,” you tried to clarify. “Maybe… maybe I don’t know what the right choice is. But what mattered is… your choice.”

“You trusted me. You trusted me with a choice that, in the end, goes back centuries…” your voice starts to shake. “A choice with consequences you must live with for…eternity.” You look up at him as tears finally threaten to pour from your eyes. “What right did I have, to ask you to sacrifice yourself to the shadows?”

Astarion stares at you as he ponders your statement. He looks away from you as he stares at the cracked, drying paint on the wall of the old room.

“I think about it every minute, every moment.” Astarion speaks slowly, softly. “I think about the colours of the city. The warmth of the rays at dawn, beckoning me towards the next day. I think about the sanguine hunger I have suffered for over 200 years, and how I could be free from that pain. Free from all limitations. And how that will never be now… once the parasite is destroyed.”

You look up at him in despair as your body threatens to let out a sob.

“And I think about… how it would never be enough.”

It was your turn for your eyes to widen. His gaze had softened as his fingers move to entwine in your own.

“I see the colours through your eyes, through the stories that you tell me of your adventures. I feel the warmth through your skin as you lay beside me every night.”

“And your blood can sate me better than any power can.” You giggle as he smirks, softly wiping the tears from your eyes.

“Before you, before this nautiloid fiasco … I had no reason to want anything else but freedom and power. I only lived to escape what I was. I had everything to gain. And nothing to lose. So ofcourse, this Ascension seemed like an obvious choice.”

“But everything changed,” Astarion said breathily. “From the moment you wormed your way into my heart…you became a complication that I never expected. Suddenly, I had everything to lose.”

“I would have stayed,” you say thickly.

“I know you would,” Astarion says sadly, “but would you have been happy?”

“I probably would have been happy…happier than I was, for sure.” Astarion stares distantly at the wall as he speaks. “But where would that happiness end? What would sate me, if my happiness was dependent on power? I would have to take more, control more, be more…it is surely the fate that befell Cazador, that befalls all with power…more power than they know what to do with.” Astarion winces as he utters his late master’s name. “The need for power, for control, can never be sated. It would never be enough. Nothing would ever be enough.”

“But you, with me, here? That is enough. You are enough. We are enough.”

You pause as you ponder his words for a moment.

“Am I?” you whisper weakly as you stare at your entwined hands.

You feel the chill of his hands as they move up to hold your face tightly, and tilts your head up to look at him. The intensity in his eyes at that moment was like nothing you’ve ever seen on him before.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly, staring fiercely into your eyes, as if he was speaking through to your soul. “There is nothing in the world that I wouldn’t sacrifice to remain here by your side. You are my eternity. My mad love. Besides,” Astarion smiles as he stares into your eyes. “I still think it was the right choice, regardless. If I could go back and do it all over again, I’d make the same choice. Every time.”

Astarion’s words cause the tears that you were holding back to creep up to the surface, as your body begins to wrack with heavy sobs, as you let out the doubt and fear that you have been holding since you both learned that the Ascension was a thing – since you have contemplated that potential decision every minute of every day, since the moment Astarion asked you to help him, and you convinced him to give away that power, to save those souls, to save himself. Astarion pulls your head to his chest and holds you tightly as you shake against him.

“My darling, why do you weep? Don’t sell yourself so short. No one else has a heart like you. You’re the only one,” Astarion whispers into your ear.

“I love you,” you declare into his shirt, tears still staining the soft, white material.

“I love you too,” Astarion says, leaning backward, pulling you down with him until he was laying on his back, with your head resting on his chest, hands softly caressing your hair. “I can’t imagine another way I would want to spend the rest of my days, my love. I’m not afraid – not anymore. And especially not of our future.”

And that is how you both fell asleep, with the two of you in eachother’s arms and your dreams of the future in eachother’s hearts.

——————

My AO3 and Twitter 🙂

MASTERLIST

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic idea #astarion fluff #tav fanfic

[budgebuttons]

There's a lot of reasonably frustrated but ultimately misdirected psa-style posting about how viewers NEED to start reblogging things rather than just liking them because that is the primary mode of post circulation on this site. The modern manifestation of this sentiment seems to miss the fact that, if you've been here for ~15 years, were here prior to, during, and after the exodus to the bird app, you already know that likes have always been more common than reblogs, that many people simply don't want to put your art on their blog, and that guilting end-users into using a microblogging site A Specific Way absolutely does not work. If it did, the trend would have shifted a decade ago. Because this conversation really is that old. Regardless, the modern discourse of how difficult it is to be Seen specifically on Tumblr isn't productive because I think it ultimately misses the reason being an artist online feels so Bad, now.

The social media era has funneled Looking At Stuff on the Internet into an economy of engagement that encourages end-users to treat everything we/they see as quick, cheap, and disposable. This is just another fun and flirty way that capitalism devalues art. It's nothing new. Trying to force masses of users to behave in a way that is healthier for the circulation of art isn't going to do anything to solve the discontent we all feel when we hurl something into the void and it is ultimately ignored. I swear up and down: A higher notes number won't feel better, either. Popularity is just as demoralizing as radio silence, but it manifests differently. Instead of 4 likes and maybe 1 reblog from Old Faithful Mutual, you get a horde of people who treat you like a content machine. You keep hoping for an impossibly Bigger Number. The notifs on the first Big Number Post haven't even settled, and people are already asking when the follow-up is coming. You get anons, but most of them are trying to passively convince you to give them More Content.

It's really, really hard to make people care about art. If there was a silver bullet for making the average person appreciate the enormity of human effort behind every beautiful thing they encounter, we would have found it centuries ago.

The best thing creatives can do for their lives online is to be friendly, or at least kind, with other creators. "Big" artists don't form in-groups because they're snobs. They find each other because they casually showed each other support, and their mutual appreciation for that Thing that wound them up in the same tag becomes a foundation for connection, and in many cases, the ever-illusive Bigger Audience as they introduce themselves to each others' circles. We get more eyes on our work by building community with each other.

Where does that leave people who are just here to look at things, not post them? I think the answer is almost identical: COMMENT!! Please, comment! The first step to engaging with art on a more meaningful level is to point out something you particularly enjoy about a given work. It can go in the replies, it can go in the tags, doesn't matter!! If you notice some symbolism or make some connection, there is all likelihood that OP put it there because they desperately wanted somebody to notice it. Let them know why you like it!

Reaching for the nebulous, impossible goal of better post circulation isn't going to make being a creator online in 2023 suck less. Meaningfully connecting with each other can, will, and does. You can make someone's day just by passingly letting them know that their effort is worth more than a number.

#budgetalks #I got to thinking about this because of fanfic actually #the proportion of comments to kudos ESPECIALLY on popular fics bums me out #especially when you open the comments and half of them are people asking for more

[nisuna]

Requesting Toji fucking a single mom. That’s it. Ily hope you’re doing good ❤️

Hi Helloooo (Ily toooo), finally some goofy bickering and mindless smut 🥳 enough serious talk for now

Hope you enjoy! (read part 2 here!!)

TW: Pure smut, a lot of bickering, just a one night stand, right? or is it.., oraf (f. receiving), overstimulation, protected sex, a lot of positions, brat taming in a way, manhandling, tit sucking, Toji x single mom!reader, this turned out longer than I expected, 2.5k words

<3masterlist<3

---------------strictly 18+ MDNI-----------------

It was the first time you went out in months and you definitely weren't looking for a hook up. You just wanted to go out and have some fun, now that your kids were staying at their grandparents' for the weekend. So you definitely didn't expect to get hit on by the biggest man you've ever seen. His eyes were almost eating you alive. He even had his hand on your hip, while his thumb was gently swiping over the area. You were definitely enjoying yourself until he finally spoke up.

"First time here, doll?", he asked, full of confidence.

"Huh, doll?", you sounded confused. "Do people really use these nicknames nowadays?", you thought and felt your smile fade as you backed up a bit.

"What's wrong?", he felt his confidence crumble a bit. Usually, girls were eating the nickname right up. You definitely were a handful, but nothing he couldn't handle. Challenge accepted.

"Nothing really, I just haven't been flirted with in a long time and definitely not like that."

"I'll help you ease back into it, no problem.", surely, that had to convince you. However, you weren't playing along at all. You backed up even more.

He was starting to get impatient. Now he had to have you no matter what. "Why are you so difficult? I can show you a real good time. You'll be missin' out big time."

"You know what?", you approached him, "I'm not one of your dumb little girls that swoon at your every action you know", you answered while poking your finger right between his tits (were they bigger than yours?). You'd be lying if you said you weren't taken aback by his sheer mass, but you couldn't give in so easily.

"I know, I know, I haven't had a mature woman in a long time. Why don't you remind me what it's like?", he put his arm around your waist and pulled you flush against his hard chest.

"You yap a lot, you know that."

"Why are you holdin' back so much? I know you want me just as bad, hm?", he took a long whiff against your neck. You had to have nerves of steel not to whimper on the spot. "Pleasee", he fucking pouted at you.

"Shit, fine. But not here.", you finally gave in and he shot you the biggest grin you've ever seen a grown man do while he pulled you to one of the bathrooms.

------

"H-hold on. What are you, a horny teenager?", you panicked as soon as he picked you up and sat you down on one of the sinks.

"I might as well be. I'll do anything to get a taste of that delicious body of yours.", he stared you down and poked his tongue out. Shitty smooth talker.

As soon as he slottet himself between your legs, he began pulling at your dress. One of his hands went down between your legs and started rubbing at the already damp fabric while he licked a thick stripe up your neck.

"Shit", you tried to hold back your moans. He, however, showed no mercy as he began to suck on your neck, working down to your cleavage. As if to test the waters, he grabbed a handfull of your tit only to halt all movements.

"They're real, right?", he asked, almost too excited.

"Yeah, why? Did most of your other dolls have them done?", you fake mocked him before letting out a moan as he pulled his hand from between your legs and onto your chest.

"Yeah, not that I really care. Tits are tits. But yours definitely feel better than the last few I've had."

"Last few? How much does this man fuck?", you couldn't dwell on the thought for long though, because he was already pulling down your dress and latching his hungry mouth onto one of your nipples.

"Slow down ah- what if someone comes in?"

"Don't mind. They're probably too drunk to notice anyway." Thouché.

He was really taking his sweet time playing with your tits, but he must be getting restless as well, because he kept rubbing his hard cock against your, at this point, soaked panties.

"Are we gonna fuck, or are you just gonna dry hump me until you cum in your pants?"

"Better, I'll eat you out."

"Really? You don't seem like the type to just eat a girl out."

"Yeah, I usually just get my dick sucked. But I'm feelin' adventurous today because of you, mama."

"Mama, huh? I guess that's better than doll." You hummed and saw him get on his knees in front of you. Having such a huge man kneel between your legs definitely gave you an ego boost. So you were quick to put your legs over his shoulders and grab a handfull of his dark hair. He, however, didn't make a move and was just looking. Pulling on his hair and squishing his face between your thighs finally made him look up at you.

"Then you better get to work, I won't cum fron you just oogling me."

As soon as the words left your mouth, your panties were pulled to the side and your breath hitched as you felt his hot mouth on you.

"Just you wait", he mumbled between licks, "I told you, I'm gonna make it worth your while."

For having said that he doesn't do this often, he did have good technique. He mostly focused his tongue on your clit, alternating between flattening it and using just the tip. From time to time he even slipped a finger or two in to curl them exactly into your sweet spot. However, it was embarrassing how often he stopped just to breathe in your scent.

He even kept mumbling, "best pussy I ever had" between slurps. Your cheeks were getting hot and your hips started to move against his face. And with your teamwork it didn't take long for you to slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your lewd moans as you came on his tongue. Even after you've calmed down he kept his mouth on you making your legs tremble and toes curl in overstimulation. You had to yank on his hair to finally get him off of you.

When you looked at him, his eyes were blown wide and his chin was glistening with your juices. You didn't look any better, your hair was a mess and your skin was shining with sweat.

After he got back up and pressed himself against you, he asked, "Round two at your place?" Not that you'd ever admit it, but he had you hooked. So, of course, you gave him a nod and he gave you a satisfied grin in return.

-----

As soon as both of you arrived home, he didn't waste any more time and clothes were flying off faster than you had anticipated.

He's never impatient with hookups. Afterall, they're usually the ones that beg him to finally fuck them. But you were far too composed, even squeezing in some snarky remarks here and there. He knew you'd be trouble after your first interaction at the club. You weren't easy and his ego told him that he had to have you no matter what. But he didn't expect you to stay so calm. You had him practically begging to finally get inside of you. Finally a worth opponent, huh? He didn't even argue when you told him he had to wear a condom.

When he finally had you where he had wanted you all night, naked and in bed, he smirked and ripped the condom wrapper with his teeth.

"I gotta be the biggest one you've ever had.", he boasted while rolling the condom on.

"Don't flatter yourself", you lied. Any virgin would be shaking in her boots at this sight. You haven't had any action in a long time, but you are definitely no virgin. Surely you could take it, right?

"I'll make sure you'll never forget my dick. You'll want to come back for more. Not that you can have it again, anyway. No offence, commitment just isn't my thing. One night stands is where I shine. So, don't catch feelings alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, you yap way too much. Just shut up and give it to me.", was the last thing you said before pulling him into the first kiss of the night.

He was a little taken aback by your sudden boldness. He's not a big kisser, but this feels quite nice. So it didn't take long for him to compose himself and slowly press into you.

You overestimated yourself a bit, as the first stretch felt like you were about to rip in half, especially once he bottomed out the first time. But mama didn't raise no quitter, so you took it like a champ and dug your nails into his back instead of whining about it. However, some tears did manage to make their way into your eyes and you fully expected a snarky comment to come your way, but to your surprise, he leaned down to kiss them away.

You could cut the tension with a knife as you both just looked at each other. To lighten the mood you playfully hit his chest and chuckled. "Wow, didn't know you could be such a gentleman. But enough now", you put your arms around his neck and pulled him close. "Fuck me till I pass out", you purred into his ear.

After that, he finally snapped out of his trance and went to pound town. The first few thrusts almost knocked the wind out of your lungs, but once you got used to them, you felt extra daring.

"That all you got?", you challenged.

He didn't react at first, but he was determined to shut you up. He looked strong, but you were still taken aback when he pulled you up with him as he knelt down on the bed. One arm was behind him supporting his weight and the other was grabbing a handfull of your ass. He smirked at your shocked expression and you couldn't contain your voice when he started to pound into you from below.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned down, pressing your lips against his. You were trying your hardest to muffle the embarassing moans that just kept spilling out of your mouth at his every move. He felt his ego rejuvenate at your obedience, which is why he started to kiss you back with much more enthusiasm than before.

"Feels good, right? Nobody's ever fucked you this good, huh?", he mumbled against your lips. You frantically shook your head, going right back to kissing him. It felt overwhealming at first, but you found your composure soon enough. He was trying his hardest to tame you, increasing his speed and spanking your ass between thrusts. But even that didn't shut you up so he finally snapped.

"You've been running that mouth of yours the whole night. Don't you think it's about time you finally shut up and take it. Just lay there and look pretty."

You cracked a smile and whispered, "make me."

Now he's had it with you. Before you could react, he pulled out of you and turned you on your tummy.

And before you could make another snarky remark, he pushed back into you and pulled your back flush against his chest. He's holding you up with one arm while sticking his thick fingers in your mouth. You felt drool drip out of your mouth and your eyes roll back at the new angle.

For the first time tonight, you were truly speechless and his ego grew incredibly more as he started to pound into you.

"Good girl, fucking finally."

You instinctively started sucking on his fingers at the praise. Is this what they call brat taming? It's actually quite nice being manhandled like that.

After a while he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and went straight between your legs. You let out the most obscene mewl, throwing your head back on his shoulder as soon as his fingers started to rub tight circles in your throbbing clit.

"Cumming on my cock will feel much better. I can promise you that."

And god, he didn't lie because the orgasm in the bathroom doesn't compare to what you're feeling right now. He had your back arching in his tight hold and you felt yourself go limp as he just used you. It didn't take long for him to reach his limit as well and he came with a low groan and bite to your shoulder.

He barely caught you after he let go and you almost fell face first on your bed from exhaustion. This fuck has definitely been worth your while.

You two didn't speak much after that as you went to clean up in the bathroom. This was it, right? It's kind of a shame that you were never going to see him again. It was nice having some company, but oh well.

"See yourself out once you've finished alright?", was the last thing you said before lying down.

"Sure."

Usually, that would be it, right? That's his thing, just a quick fuck and then dip. But oddly enough today, that just didn't feel right. It's been a long time since a woman made him sweat so much. Girls in their early twenties truly didn't compare to you. So when he saw you just laying there so peacefully he felt an urge to stay longer.

"I'll just leave as soon as I wake up. One night won't hurt."

You were already fast asleep when he snuggled up to your side. So much for not catching feelings, huh?

---------

When you woke up, it was with his heavy arm draped over your waist. You rubbed your eyes and tried to sit up, but no chance with the tight grip he had on you. So you opted for shaking him.

"What are you still doing here? I thought you said you only do one night stands.", you questioned. With a groan he finally gave you room to turn around and face him.

"Answer me now.", you poked and pulled on his cheek.

"Just leave me be. Your bed's way comfier than mine and it smells nice, too." In his sleep drunken state, he nuzzled his face against yours. He was nothing like the man you got to know yesterday. He was kind of cute, actually. So you just sighed and didn't resist his hugs.

"Want to stay till breakfast?" Nod. You didn't expect this outcome, but oddly enough, it wasn't an unwelcome one. You missed sharing a bed with someone anyway, so where's the harm in trying it out with him. You're gonna enjoy this for as long as it lasts. Who knows what'll happen.

---------

Tell me what you think!! xoxo

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[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 12||

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Words: 5k

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

Even in the middle of the night, the heat of summer in Hell's Kitchen is oppressive. It doesn't help that there is a storm rolling in and it is so humid Matt feels like he's breathing in water. Sweat is pouring off of him and he's glad he opted out of wearing his red armor - he has the feeling he would have overheated within an hour.

The only good thing about it pushing eighty degrees at two am is that only people that have to be out are out. Even though it is Saturday night/ Sunday morning, the streets are empty and Matt has only encountered people on their way back home. He hasn't even needed to scare off any muggers or stop any break ins. In fact, all he has really done all night is track people to make sure they got to their destinations safely.

There was a small surge of people around midnight coming off the trains and they had been rowdy, but hadn't caused any problems. Matt quickly worked out they were part of the protesters who have been crowding outside the courthouse for the past few days and deemed they were not a threat to his beloved city.

He's spoken to a few of them while at the courthouse and he fully supports their cause and their right to protest. Admittedly, Matt is not one to stay on top of current events, but he thinks it is suspicious that the government will not reveal what caused the massive explosion in Connecticut. It's been weeks but instead of answers, it feels like everything about the incident is being shoved under the rug and Matt knows if it was closer to home, Karen would be chomping at the bit to investigate.

Over six hundred people lost their lives and no one is being brought to justice for it. They are saying it was an attack, but no one is claiming ownership or being blamed for the destruction. It makes him angry, and though this isn't his fight, he'll do his part protecting the voices in his community who demand the truth.

Tonight, it seems like his community is safe and Matt will be able to get more than two hours of sleep before he needs to go to Mass. He needs to do a final pass around the neighborhood before he turns in for the night, so he pushes himself up from where he has been crouching like a gargoyle and stretches his limbs. His knees pop and his back screams at him and he decides that despite the heat, he will take a scorching shower to soothe his muscles. He may not have gotten into any big fights the past few nights, but that doesn't matter to his body - it's always aching and throbbing in one way or another.

He pulls his mask down over his face, hating how it instantly makes his forehead sticky and wet, and starts his loop.

He starts at the top of 10th and weaves across and down until he passes Foggy and Marci’s apartment. He pauses across the street and crouches down as he tunes his ears to their bedroom. They are both in a deep sleep and there is no threat he can detect, but still he stays for a minute just to be sure. Daredevil may have complicated his best friend's life, but Foggy has never had trouble making his own enemies. He may not be a vigilante, but his sense of justice is just as strong as Matt's and that has caused people to come at him violently. Someone breaking in is not out of the question.

Marci has her own enemies but if anyone ever tries to come after her, well, Matt will pray for their soul because not even he is that self-destructive. She once made a joke about becoming a crime lord and he still has the occasional nightmare over it.

Matt scans the surrounding buildings for any problems once more before he starts off towards Karen's place. She was still awake when he last passed her building and the odds of her still being up are pretty even. He wouldn't be surprised to find her typing away at some article - stirring up the pot as always. He loves her for that personality trait, even if it mentally puts him through the ringer with worry over her - he supposes it is nothing compared to what he does to her.

But luckily, for the collective sanity of Nelson, Murdock, and Page, more people care about Karen's well-being than care about Matt's.

He knows she has Jessica's number on speed dial - letting them meet is one of his greatest regrets in life. He is well aware of the cameras set up by Frank's computer friend and while the Marine is out of town, he's left her with another layer of protection - his dog Max.

Not that Karen can't take care of herself.

If she and Marci teamed up to take over Manhattan, Matt doesn't know if he could stop them.

Maybe he'll tell her that for her birthday - it will make a better gift than anything he'd be able to think of.

Matt lands on the roof of Karen's building, relieved to find she has gone to sleep since he last checked on her. She must have let the dog get in bed with her, because it's snoring is making it hard for him to tune into her without concentration. She's safe and seemingly happy, so he lingers only a moment before resuming the last dredges of his patrol.

He heads down to the docks next. There are people there, but they are meant to be - prepping for the fish markets and early morning cargo ships. These are good, hard working men who don't dabble in things that would make the Devil hunt them. In fact, he's got a good contact in one of the fish mongers, who will let him know if there's been anything suspicious in the wee hours of the morning. He doesn't need to check in now, as there have been no whispers as of late, and he disappears back into the shadows of the city to head towards Clinton Church.

Matt's stomach turns as he gets closer to where he grew up. His feelings about the location and the people there have been a ridiculous rollercoaster since he found out he was a father.

He deeply misses Father Lantom. Despite what everyone has told him, he firmly blames himself for the man's death and does not understand why God made that choice. It hurts that he isn't here and Matt can barely bring himself to go into the church - he's only started to re-attend Mass since learning about Minnie to seek guidance from God about this new path. He'd give anything to be able to speak to the man who mentored him in life - to hear what he would say about Matt having a daughter.

It isn't that Matt dislikes the new priest - he just doesn't like him. He's resistant to change and it should be Father Lantom giving Communion and taking his Confession.

It should be Father Lantom who Baptizes Minnie, not this man Matt has never even spoken with.

Maggie is trying to get Matt to interact with the man, but his relationship with her is going through a rocky patch and he hasn't actually spoken with her in about two weeks. She hasn't done anything wrong - he is just having an internal crisis over how learning he is a parent changed him and his abandonment issues. He's spent a lot of time in reflection and understands why she left him and his father, but he now has a renewed anger at her for not telling him the truth sooner.

Did she not love him like he loves Minnie? Was it something he did wrong?

Will she love Minnie like she loved Matt? He trusts her to care for his daughter, but will she love her granddaughter the way she deserves to be loved?

Everything is made more complicated over how guilty he is over having these feelings and so, instead of talking to his mother, he's been avoiding her. He knows he needs to eventually address it, but for the moment Maggie is none the wiser about his mini-me.

He'll tell her after he tells you about her.

It is something he needs to do still - it just hasn't come up yet. Most of your conversations center around Minnie and you are still getting to know each other. You've shared few stories about your childhood - mostly about school - and Matt isn't so sure how your anxiety will handle Maggie. His mother is a good person, but she is a lot and he knows you have your own parent issues.

Like at the docks, there are people active at the Church. A few homeless patrons are seeking shelter before the rain and there is a nun tending to their needs. The kids are safely tucked into bed, and while it sounds like a few are having nightmares, there is nothing he can do for them at the moment.

If they wake and cry out, he prays their calls are answered.

Matt practically flees the sacred grounds and his anxiety only settles once he crosses into Chelsea.

As he runs, he hones his senses to the apartment building you live in. It is easy for him to lock onto - he's already spent countless hours perched on the boundaries of the two neighborhoods listening to you and Minnie sleep. He knows it is creepy, but he cannot help himself.

Minnie’s laugh is his new favorite sound, and not far behind it is your heartbeat. Much like his daughter, he's found himself focusing on it when things get too much and it is the perfect way to end patrols - winding down while you and Mouse dream.

You mumble in your sleep and it is the most endearing thing he's ever encountered. He likes to respond to your strange statements, imagining he's right there in bed with you. There has been a recurring theme of parrots and he is thinking that the bird exhibit will be off limits during Minnie’s birthday trip to the zoo, based on what he's heard.

But it isn't you mumbling in your apartment tonight - it's Minnie.

His daughter is awake and has moved from the bedroom to the living room. The television is on - playing what he thinks is Sesame Street - and she seems to be fussing with a toy. Context clues tell him she's playing with a doll or stuffed animal - dress up is one of her favorite games and he knows it is one of her Quiet Games.

“Nexts,” she says sweetly to her toy, “we gotta do your make ups.”

Matt decides to wait until he's landed on the roof before he makes her aware of his presence. He kneels and takes a moment to center himself, taking a deep breath to do so. He focuses on calming the Devil in his chest - this is the first time he's caught Minnie awake in the middle of the night and he needs to address it as Matt and not Daredevil.

He doesn't want to scare her, after all. She'll probably be very confused as to why he's there and being scared won't help anything.

“Minnie, sweetheart, can you hear me?” He asks, keeping his voice soft as possible as he does.

To her credit, she doesn't start at all. It takes her a moment to process, but then she questions, “Daddy?”

The name makes his heart soar - everytime she says it, he breaks into the biggest smile. It is the sweetest sound and the fact she switched to calling him that all on her own means the world to him.

She wants him to be her Daddy.

“Yeah, sweetheart, it's me. What are you doing awake?” he questions, smiling as he hears her get up and start to walk around. He wonders if she is looking for him and his guess is confirmed when he hears her start lifting things up to look under them.

“I'm watching Cookie Monsters,” she replies and Matt chuckles. He thinks it is so adorable she is also so direct with her answers. She always answers exactly what is asked.

“I don't think it is time for Cookie Monster, Mouse. I think it's sleep time. Mommy is sleeping.”

You are in a deep sleep, your breathing slow and even. He can tell you've been exhausted lately and probably need the sleep. More than once he's found you awake during his patrols. If Minnie tried to wake you up, you probably weren't responsive and she had left you to sleep.

She peters her way back to in front of the television and plops back down after checking under the dining table. Matt waits for her to respond, knowing sometimes it takes her time to form what she wants to say.

“I can't sleep,” she mumbles, upset clear in her voice, “there's a monster.”

The Devil flares up inside of him and he instantly scans the area for a threat. There are few people awake in the area and he focuses in on them - none of them appear to be any sort of danger to his daughter. At the moment.

But they could have been earlier. They could have woken her up by doing something horrible. A mugging. Domestic violence. Something worse.

He curls his lip into a snarl.

He'll find whoever upset his daughter and drive them from his city. The state.

It's a miracle he manages to keep his voice calm and gentle, “A monster?”

“A monster,” she confirms sadly. Her breathing becomes muffled and Matt figures she has shoved her hand into her mouth to self-comfort.

“Can you tell Daddy about the monster?”

She sucks on her fingers and with her free hand, pulls her toy into her lap. He wants to push her to tell him, but he knows he can't. She's not a witness or a suspect - she's his daughter trying her best. He can tell she wants to answer, he just needs to be patient.

“He ran really fast,” Minnie starts to say, barely taking her hand out of her mouth to do so, “and went eek-eek-eek and smelled like poopy-butt.”

The words baffle him and Matt knits his brows - this monster was close enough for Minnie to smell him? The monster in his chest snarls and he has to fight to keep his composure. He knows Minnie is locked onto him and if he lets his rage show, she will know and she will get scared.

He needs to protect his daughter. He needs to believe God will not test him in this.

“Minnie, sweetie, can you tell Daddy where the monster is?”

Her little head turns up to face exactly where he is standing, asking in a small voice, “are you gonna fight him?”

The Devil roars ‘yes’, but the Father in him says, “Do you want me to?”

“Mommy scares him away,” she advises hesitantly. He can practically feel the nerves radiating off of her and it makes him clench his fist.

Matt doesn't understand. This has happened before?

Then it beams him in the head like a baseball and Matt feels like a complete idiot.

Minnie is a toddler. Her monsters are shadows, creaky pipes, and the four legged creatures in the city. Those are things that no longer register on Matt's radar but she hasn't learned to tune them out yet. Of course she would be scared of those things - Matt was scared of those things when he first got his senses and he was much older than Minnie at the time.

He remembers his first phone call with you and how it ended - something about Monster Repellent.

“I can go scare off the monster - would you like that?” he asks, the Devil in him settling down now that he knows no one is trying to hurt his little girl.

He doesn't know if it's Minnie sensing his shift in mood or if she didn't want him to fight the monster and scaring it away is what she wants, but she untenses her shoulders and her hand comes out of her mouth.

“You'll scare him away?” She asks after hugging her toy right to her chest.

“I'll scare him away,” he quickly promises.

“He smells like poopy-butt,” she repeats and Matt wonders if she is making a stinky face. That is something you tell him he and Minnie share - a certain curl of their lips when they find something unappealing.

“That's okay, sweetie, I'll make him go smell bad somewhere else. He won't bother you,” he says. “Can you tell me where he went and I'll go chase him away.”

Finally, she points down towards the alleyway between her building and the neighboring one and adds, “He can climb walls. Like Spidey-Man.”

Matt resists the urge to huff over the mention of the other vigilante. He has met the kid twice before and his biggest take, besides it was a kid under the mask and that had been its own thing, was that he needed to learn how to throw a proper punch. It confirmed for him all that Avengers training and showboating really meant nothing and they really were better off fighting aliens and wizards than helping out real people.

“Don't worry, Mouse, I can climb the walls, too.” He's definitely letting his Pride show through, but if he can't show off for his daughter, who can he show off for?

He makes a quick map in his head, then goes to the edge of the roof. Minnie’s head is still angled up towards him and she ‘watches’ as he parkours down to street level. If he adds a few unnecessary flips, well, that is no one's business but his own.

Once he is on the pavement, he opens his senses to the things he normally blocks out. The city becomes far more lively around him - cats, raccoons, birds, dogs, all sorts of bugs and things he doesn't like to think about. There's yowling and chirps and suddenly so much more movement, most of it under his feet.

Mouse’s monster is easy to find. It is a disgustingly large rat that has built a nest of trash and grime under a dumpster. The thing has a respiratory infection, which has it wheezing and rattling and he very much understands why Minnie was scared of it. It is not a pleasant sound and the infection is not at all helping how the creature smells. Animals smell at the best of times, but this rat clearly enjoys the sewers and ‘poopy-butt’ doesn't begin to cover how rancid it is.

Matt starts to work out what he needs to do to make sure this sick rodent stays far away from his family. If it has a nest, it will come back, so he needs to destroy that - without damaging the animal. He doesn't have the heart to actually hurt the thing.

He pulls out his billy clubs and snaps them together to make a bo staff, then moves to crouch in front of the dumpster. “Okay, sir, I'm here to evict you,” he says, more for Minnie’s benefit than anything. “You gotta go.”

He jabs at the nest of wet cardboard and almost immediately, the rat scurries out and hisses at him. It snaps its jaws at him a few times instead of running away and Matt huffs at the display, turning his staff towards the creature and swatting at it. “Get out of here.” To its credit, it tries to fight him, biting at his billy clubs and screeching at him, but after a few good thwacks to its side, it realizes it has no chance against him and dashes toward a nearby grate.

He listens to it go down into some pipes and once it's out of range, he tilts his head up towards Minnie, a smile starting to form in his lips, “The monster has been vanquished, my princess.”

His words make her giggle and he can't help but chuckle as well. He hears her push up into standing and she toddles towards the window. There's a table in front of it, so he knows she can't see out of it, but he knows she's trying to find him.

“He's not gonna come back?” She questions and in response he starts to break up the nest. He spreads the trash around, knocking things down and away. It's not a big very big rat den, relying heavily on the dumpster.

“He's not, he's gonna go find a new home,” he promises as he works, and once he's satisfied with his destruction, he collapses his billy clubs and holsters them. He pushes up into standing and steps away from the trash can.

“Far away?” Minnie asks and his heart breaks for her. The stupid animal must have terrified her.

“Very, very far away.”

He locates the fire escape and starts to scale it back up to your apartment floor. As he does, he starts closing off his senses again. Things begin to fade into the background - the things he will need to start teaching Minnie. She's got a good handle on it already, having learned to function with it instead of needing to adapt.

He's so proud. So unbelievably proud.

She's such a good and pure child. She always wants to help and asks about other people. She may be shy, but she's empathetic.

You've taught her well.

Matt understands how Minnie is a mini-him in her abilities and mannerisms due to those abilities, but her sweet nature is from you.

He knows he's gone for you.

Foggy has pointed it out. Karen has pointed it out. God has smacked him in the face with signs.

His realization moment was hearing a man purchasing an engagement ring for a woman who shared your name. He had gotten so furiously jealous he had to go take it out on the punching bag.

Foggy laughed so hard at him.

He doesn't think you noticed at all. It is nothing against you, he completely understands. You are like him - you don't think you deserve love. You had been painfully shy your first night together, as well, and he had been charmed by it.

He's angry at himself for letting you be a one night stand.

He should have been there when you needed him most.

He's not going to fuck that up again.

He pulls off his mask before making a show off popping up in front of your window and Minnie dissolves into giggles.

“Hi, Daddy!” She waves at him and he can tell she is absolutely beaming. He eagerly waves back and he knows he's matching her smile.

“Hi, Mouse.”

“Why are you outside?”

He's planned for this. He has discussed this with Foggy and Karen at length. He did the unthinkable - he asked Frank - who apparently knew who Minnie was before either Foggy or Karen did. They had attacked the question from all sides. As the firm. As friends. As parents.

They couldn't lie to Minnie. Matt can see the signs she's picking up on what different heart beats mean. She's going to know and there's nothing they can do to hide it. She can hear all of Hell’s Kitchen just as well as he can. It may not happen until she's older, but she'll figure it out.

So, he's not going to lie to her. He thinks you would approve. You don't like lying to her - you soften the truth into something she can comprehend. He's going to follow your lead.

“I'm working,” Matt answers, crouching on the rails and resting his wrists on his knees. He's suddenly very glad he had a very boring night. “What are you doing inside?”

Mouse accepts the answer and hugs her toy to her chest, swaying side to side “I'm talking to you.”

He laughs at her utter sweetness. She giggles along with him.

He gives a fond shake of his lead, then leans forward so she can see him a bit better, “What should you be doing, sweetheart?”

She scrunches up her face as she thinks, then she falls into a pout, “Sleeping.”

“Yeah, you should be sleeping. You're going to be tired tomorrow. It's not going to be fun,” he gently warns. He knows it isn't her fault, but he knows it will eventually help her learn to push those noises to the background.

“Okay, I'll go bed. I gotta clean up first. Mommy says …Mommy says don't leave it until morning. You'll make morning you sad. Be nice to morning you,” she recites, patting her hands against her stuffed animal - it's not Scooby or Pig. (He doesn't know this one. His best guess is it's a Raggedy-Anne type princess doll. His little girl loves princesses - no specific one, just the concept and aesthetic.)

He loves the values you are instilling in her. He's going to steal this mantra and tell it to Foggy and Karen.

“Okay. I'll keep watch for any monsters,” he tells her. This is one of the reasons he wants her to know the truth. He wants her to know her Daddy will protect her from all of the monsters.

“Okay. Thank you. Love you!” She chants, then turns away.

“I love you, too, Mouse. So much.”

And he will tell her every chance he gets.

She carefully walks back to where she had been sitting and turns off the television, then goes to put her toys away. Like always, she's very methodical about what she does. He could spend hours watching her play. She fascinates him. She picks up one toy at a time and tells it good night as she puts it back into her toy chest.

She doesn't have much to clean up and when she finishes, she turns to face him.

“Will you tuck me in? Please? Thank you?” Minnie asks like he can say no.

“Of course, my love. Are you all ready for bed?” He questions as he hops down onto the fire escape - one of the screws holding it together shakes and he decides he'll come back another night with a wrench to tighten everything up.

“All ready!” she confirms and he can tell she's watching him with great curiosity.

He begins to run his fingers over the edges of the window, searching for a way in. You certainly don't make it easy - you invested in apartment security and it takes him a moment to disable it. He's careful as he slides the window up and pops out the screen. He slips into the apartment, then quickly closes the window behind him, leaving the screen on the floor.

Minnie has the decency to wait until that moment to run to him with open arms. Matt scoops her up, swinging her a little before putting her on his hip and once she is settled, he leans down to press his forehead to hers.

“We have to be quiet, okay? We can't wake up, Mommy,” he tells her and she quickly nods in understanding.

He doesn't know what he'll do if you wake up and find him in your home - but luckily you are still in a deep sleep. As long as Minnie keeps calm, you should stay lost in Dreamland.

He kisses her forehead then starts towards the bedroom. She returns the affection, planting a big kiss on his cheek before she gently smacks him in the face with her doll with a quiet, “mwah!” Then, she flops against his shoulder, using him as a pillow.

He has to fight back a pleased huff - his little angel is so sweet. He'll never get sick of getting kisses from her toys - it's so loving and innocent and he is greedy for any and all affection.

Your bedroom is a good twenty degrees cooler than the rest of the apartment - there's a fan going and accompanying it is a little window unit blowing in cold air. It feels like Heaven in the blistering heat that is the rest of the city. The chill seems to suck the consciousness from Mouse - she gives a big dramatic yawn, smacking her lips against his neck. Her body slumps into him and he rubs her back encouragingly.

He crosses the room carefully, hyper aware of any toys that may have found their way to the floor post-bedtime. It absolutely breaks his heart to have to pull her away from him and she does try to stay clinging to him - not fighting him just resistant - but she ends up in her bed and under her covers. He doesn't know if he would have had the strength to force her to let go if she really did want to stay in his arms.

He helps her adjust her sleeping headband so it is around her eyes and ears, then kisses her cheek one final time, “ready for sleep?”

The response is a barely there nod and Matt can't help but feel so much love for his daughter. Being able to conk right out as soon as she's comfortable shows how much she trusts him. His little girl is always so wary and subtly alert.

He's going to cherish this moment forever.

“Love you, Mouse.” He whispers.

“Luvo, Daffy,” is what it sounds like she says as she rolls to bury her face into her pillow. A moment later she is snoring.

Matt allows a few tears to fall before wiping them away and turning his attention to you. You have nested yourself under your blankets, breath hitching every so often. He's learned over time from various people this usually means bad dreams - not nightmares but things that can leave you shaken.

He doesn't dare move closer to try to soothe you with touch - that would certainly wake you up.

Instead, he promises, “I'll chase all your monsters away, too.”

tags:

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@

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 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #and then i met you

[earthstellar]

One thing that I really liked in IDW 2 was the concept of Going Immersant.

Given the immensely long average lifespan of Cybertronians, it makes sense:

If nothing kills you, and you live long enough to have experienced all of what you feel you reasonably can in this lifetime, and you feel content with the life that you have had, and it seems time to retire--

--Why not return your knowledge and the entity of your self to the core of your planet, where your energy and your components can be reused and your memories and knowledge can be subsumed into the greater whole?

Plug in with the stray cables that stick out of the cavernous expanses deep beneath the surface of Cybertron, let yourself get situated, and allow yourself to daydream as the crystals grow around you and gradually consume you. It is not painful. It is a process of sharing.

Each daydream then enters the great memory bank of Primus, at the heart of the world, the core of life itself for your species. Your experiences become part of the eternal record of experienced Cybertronian life. You join your God himself, frame and processor, as you combine with him within the physical form of your planet.

Primus created you, and as you are subsumed into the crystalline forms that surround you, you will go on to sustain Primus in some way. An unending cycle.

Perhaps you feel something, leeching up from deep within the crystal mass, some unique energy meeting you halfway, the cables that snake their way into your ports like vines carrying some ancient data, older than yourself, older than the Rust Sea, older than the Hydrax Plateau, older than the Titans.

Maybe you cannot decipher it, yet. But it comforts you. It reminds you that you are not alone, after your visitors have gone. Where there is digital noise, there is something to produce it. You will meet it soon--

--After countless years of a peaceful rest, knowing that at the end of your endlessly long existence, your life will go on to benefit others.

And for as long as you are able, you still remain present, as well. Just not above, on the surface. For some time, others can still come and visit, speak with you, consult with you-- Although as your memory banks purge into the greater whole, you begin to falter in this waking realm.

And that is OK; To rejoin with Primus and re-enter the Well of All Sparks as an ancient elder, a repository of experience and wisdom, is to become a teacher to all. Even in peaceful, gradual death-- And even then, your energy and materials and thoughts remain somewhere, deep within the planet.

Returned. Recycled.

Eternal, in some shape or form.

It's just a really beautiful concept.

Without any natural death, Cybertronians have the option to simply return to Primus, return to the core of the planet, in a half-waking state.

At peace, gracefully and with intent.

All of what they have experienced and all that they are, all of their memories and feelings, all of the metals and compounds that make up their frame and armour and protoform, all of it can be taken in and absorbed.

The option is there, to emerge once more.

But for most, this is the final calling.

To go immersant is to enter peace, to become a living state of meditation until the very end for you as an individual. To have full agency over how you pass on, to make the decision and consciously know. To be happy with that. To relax into your fate, as you see fit.

To make the decision to be recycled, to contribute all that you are, to return your energy to the crystalline matter that fuels your world and your people and your God, who in turn fuelled you and will thus go on to fuel all those subsequently churned out by the Well.

To merge with your living planet on an atomic level, on an esoteric level.

I wonder if the fully immersant aren't dead in the traditional sense. Perhaps they are offline, to those in this world. Perhaps their frame is vacated as their data is absorbed. But that data is not lost, necessarily.

It's just a very beautiful end of life option for Cybertronians, and I do hope the concept is revisited in some form in the future.

#codexa #idw transformers #idw 2 #orion pax #idw orion pax #maccadams #maccadam #just thinkin' #cybertronian culture #immersant