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echantedtoon · 7 months

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Demon Bride Ch52 NOT YOURS!!!

(Warnings!!: Douma and Karaku ARE their own Warnings.. possibly some innuendos. Sakura is in bad shape and Y/n attempts to attack her/has attacked her. Mentioning of blood. Yn clawing, biting, attacking Douma. At one point Douma's hand gets ripped off. Y/n kicking Sakura's ass and breaking Douma's arm to escape, Douma almost ends Sakura,Etc. Yn collapses from exhaustion.)

You know he was expecting a lot of things when he got back.

Probably a lot more work waiting for him. More demons wanting his opinion on things. Maybe a lord or high demon asking for another research grant or to help them with whatever economic system they ran. Maybe another lady swooning at his feet to try and gain favor with him. Someone attempting to gain his favor or trick him into something. However what he wasn't expecting when he got back from spending a few days back at his cult, to make sure things back there were still running smoothly in his absence, but what he wasn't expecting was to be walking around humming to himself and then out of nowhere a woman materialized shrieking her head off and running for her life like a bat out of hell.

He had to stop and blink as she ran out towards him catching the attention of many demons alike looking out of windows and doorways and from stairs and platforms watching as she shrieked and ran holding up threads of her once nice kimono torn and slightly bloodied with her blood torn by claws. Her messy pink hair clung to her body as she ran towards him.

"HELP ME!! BY GODS HELP ME!!"

Sakura. My, my. Now what could have happened here? It's been a few weeks since he's last seen her. Did she not listen to his...'warning'? The answer was behind her however when a crashing sound caused his eyes to look behind the woman as another person came bulldozing through a random door and crashing into the hallway. The body flopped like a ragdoll onto the same platform they were on before the bones in their body popped and like a puppet on a string, pulled itself up and staggered a few steps. F/c hair clung to the blood shot eyes and snarling teeth sharpened to find points. The scent of wysteria and orange lilies fluttering about drawing into his senses and making a woozy feeling fall over anyone who breathed it in. Raged red sclera and violent violet eyes contained deepening hatred and the promise of bloodied vengeance for the one who held their wrath. Furious flowers and twisted vines patterned the body's skin like war paint. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little surprised when a voice screeched out amongst Sakura's shriek.

"I'LL FUCKING SEND YOU TO HELL!!"

Well...He couldn't have that now could he?...Hmm. On the other hand-...She DID insult his dear sweet wittle Daki whom was one of his favorite people. Kokushibo would let the two ladies fight out their differences until the two of them got it all out of their systems! That was the right thing to do!

"DOUMA IM GOING TO KILL YOU FOR THIS!!"

"Yes, yes darling. Just let out all of your anger and breath deeply."

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!!"

And in short that's how you were restrained by Douma with one arm. That's it. Literally one arm. One arm was wrapped around your middle lifting you off the ground and your back pressed against his chest as you literally clawed and slashed and bit at Douma whom didn't even flinch at your hissing screaming thrashing at him. He. Didn't. Even. Flinch. Instead he carried you away from what must've been TONS of prying eyes as they watched their leader carry away the Kizuki Bride screaming about how she'd murder the shooken u pink haired girl left behind the farther Douma walked away with a smile.

"PUT. ME. DOWN!!"

You shrieked in animalistic incoherent RAGE at having your prey taken away from you. Anger bubbling up and bubbling up festering from MONTHS of frustration. Finally it was all bubbling up and out as you took every ounce of it out. On Douma. Claw after claw. Bite after bite as your vision went red and any sense of clear thinking left your body. Leaving behind a dangerous animal that was left to be restrained to keep from any further harm to anyone.

"Oh my, my, my. *sigh* This is what I was afraid of. You've gone into a blind rage because you're not used to becoming your full demon form yet. Oh it was as Enmu warned." He blinked as his hand went flying off past his head and over the side of the platform never to be seen again before the woman hissed in rage as another hand instantly regenerated in its place. "Now that's not nice. You should be at least a little grateful. This hurts me more than it does you. Poor thing." He cooed hugging you closer to him as she snarled like a panther. "I'll take care of you."

"Y/N?!"

DOUMA hummed and only turned to spot two figures rushing towards him and he smiled wider. "Look, Dear. We have guests. Hello, Upper Moon Four! What brings you both to me?" HISS!! "To us?"

Two of those five brothers came running (well one was flying) towards him in a panic and around the same time she cursed and wriggled now given up on attacking him. Wait. Cursing? Oh. So she didn't lose her mind after all. Around the same time the two got close enough to stop and pant looking like they were almost shocked and panicked at the sight of her. And he just smiled.

"Urogi and Karaku right? I heard all about you from Kokushibo-dono! He told me you'd be staying with us for a long while. Forgive me for not being here to greet you in person but I was busy with important duties. Could one of you perhaps tell me what's transpired between our ladies here?"

From the far side of the hall Sakura flinched when a very loud snarl was sent her way. Both brothers panted looking to catch their breaths, looked at each other, before Urogi scowled and pointed at his brother.

"That was...YOUR c-crazy ex girlfriend.... You t-tell him...what happened... Uhh," the harpy choked between gasps for air and falling to his knees to catch his breath.

Oh? ...Oh! That was right! Sakura dear was courting Karaku wasn't she? Jade mentioned that to him before he broke things off with her. He obviously turned to the green eyed demon whom winced like a kicked puppy under the much more stronger demons gaze... before sighing.

"It was a mistake!" Karaku shouted his hands flying up to grip his long black locks. "She went off to fucking best Sakura to death!!"

"NO. I. WASN'T!!" All three men turned to the woman who still struggled against Douma's single arm. Scowling and thrashing about. "I WENT THERE TO CONFRONT HER ABOUT EVERYTHING AND SHE-" a purple nailed hand pointed at the pink haired demon whom looked a wrecked. "-DECIDED IT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA TO TRY TO PUSH ME OFF A FLOATING FLIGHT OF STAIRS!!"

"Oh?...Ooooh. I see." It all made sense now. "Sakura started it then."

"She started it but I can sure AS HELL FINISH IT!!" She yelled out struggling again..

"So what happened after she tried to push Y/n off the edge? In more ways than one."

Karaku rolled his wrist with a wince. "Well. Yn yelled 'what the fuck' at her, then She challenged and insulted her back, then Yn tackled her and both tumbled off the edge and fell through someone's roof AAAAANNND...." Karaku shrugged with a guilty look. "We kinda lost track of them both for a while."

"Well it certainly seems like it's over. Y/n has won against her twice now. She knows better now. As temporary leader I declare it as such." Douma then hummed and slowly turned back to Sakura. "Although she's been causing too many problems for her own Good-"

CRACK!!

Something gave as Y/n was FINALLY able to break free from Douma's grasp and stand on her own two feet. A snarl still on her face as her head immediately snapped back to Sakura's form. Panting and snarling with all the rage of a rabbied wolf... Before just as quickly she snapped to Karaku whom jumped when she did-

"DWAH?!"

And suddenly found himself.. thrown...over her shoulder?? Green eyes blinked in confusion and shock as Karaku just sat there with a single arm wrapped around his middle keeping him there. Wha-

"YOU SEE THIS YOU LITTLE WITCH!? DO YOU?! THIS IS MINE!! NOT YOURS!! M I N E!! M! I! N! E! M I N E!! IF I CATCH YOUR DAMNED UNDERHANDED FUCKING LITTLE GOBLIN THUMBS YOU CALL HANDS COMING ANYWHERE NEAR THIS-" Another hand made a circle motion gesturing to Karaku whom blinked over his shoulder. "-AGAIN, I'LL TRACK YOU DOWN,RIP YOUR OWN LEG OFF, AND BEAT YOU TO DEATH WITH IT!! THEN I'LL FIND YOUR GHOST AND BEAT YOU DOUBLE DEAD WITH A HOLY TALISMAN!!!"

Silence rung out as she heaved and snarled before narrowing her eyes, and snapping back to the tall blonde.

"YOU!!" She pointed a claw at Douma to which he just oh so casually smiled at. "You are coming with me and we're going to TALK. N O W!!"

"Of course, Little Lotus! I'd be more than happy to! I heard you wanted to talk to me anyways!" A hand waved at her as he smiled wider. "I'll just be a bit. Let me just...'take care of' a few things first."

The way he spoke sent chills down her spine but she ignored him scoffing with a hiss before giving Sakura one last narrowed eyed glare.

CHIRP?!

Urogi let out a startled chicken squawk as something grabbed him harshly by the arm and a second later Urogi blinked as he was held under another arm, an arm wrapped around his waist just under his wings. Both brothers just .. blinked wide eyed before they began moving away from everyone else...Urogi gave a flustered peacock choke sound his feathers puffing out. Karaku's face just went a deepened red. There was unholy silence for what seemed like forever. Many eyes watched as a coldness swept across the entire area as Douma slowly turned back towards Sakura.

STEP.

The pink haired demon froze. Every other demon backed away from her or ran away altogether. Others cowered from doorways and closed windows. Upper Moon Two was eerily stepping down the pathway. Back towards the defeated girl.

STEP. STEP. STEP. STEP.

Golden eyes widened in knowing horror. "Uh oh..Hey. Uh..Karaku." Said flustered brother looked at him before Urogi slowly held up a claw. "I think he's about to commit the murder Y/n was originally planning."

Both brothers have a small noise as the body carrying them slowly stopped and stood there for a long moment. Listening to each imposing step Upper Moon Two took towards the downed woman- A snap of a golden fan was heard as a looming shadow fell over the frozen girl's body and a smile that held no happiness was given to her.

"Your poor soul is cloaked in tiredness isn't it? So frail, so weak. You can barely stand up now. However you have no need to fear me." Pink irises shrunk to the size of pins. A coldness unlike any winters she's ever felt zapping the warmth from her skin. The coldness of death grazed over her head. A looming warning of what was to come. "Never fear now, as your soul will be blessed within Eternal Paradise and sleep soundly onwards-" His grip on her. It was starting to hurt. "Do not worry. For it is my place to guide you-"

"Douma....You leave her alone."

"Hm?" The cold was still there. Cold so cold it burnt. His head turned around so unnaturally. "Oh. Darling, I didn't hear you coming back! Have you come back to rechallenge her again? I was just about to see her off on her final destination to para-"

"I know EXACTLY what you were about to do." His smile remained wide on his face. "Leave her alone. She's had enough."

"Hmm." A single blue nailed finger tapped his chin as he faked looking thoughtful. "True. But that's all the more reason she should get to go to paradise! I'm also very sure Kokushibo would want the law upheld, especially for crimes against the Kizuki. Namely... attempted poisoning."

"...What can I do to convince you to spare her?"

Now THAT. Got his interest as he slowly looked from her....And his grin widened in fake joy. "Well I suppose we can let bygones be bygones if I was too busy attending to something else more important than a traitor to the Kizuki. For example if my dear fiance asked me for lunch. Oh that would be SO much more important. But sadly...She didn't ask m-"

"Douma...Will you please..have lunch with me?"

Sakura squealed as she was released from the frozen grasp and Douma popped back up to his full height clasping his hands and smiling 'happily' like he wasn't about to end someone. "Oh darling I'm so glad you asked me! I'll clear up my schedule right now! I can tell you all about my trip! Oh! Uh...But first Things first. Urogi my faithful companion." Said golden eyed harpy blinked as he was addressed. "Could you please bring Sakura dear to Hairou? She was very naughty and should be locked up to think about what she's done. I'm sure Hairou will be happy to watch her until Kokushibo comes back and decides what her punishment should be."

"And medical care." He hummed and purple eyes narrowed. "Get her medical care, Douma."

"Oh yes! That too of course! Urogi, would you please do the honors?"

Said harpy was let lose and gave a final unsure look around at the lot of you... before with a flap of his wings and a shriek from Sakura, she was grabbed by the shoulders and lugged off the ground by Urogi and into the air like how a hawk would carry away a bunny. Which all left you, Karaku still looking over his shoulder at you holding him, Douma looking pleased, and about a hundred other spectators watching you all. After a moment of staring you sighed and turned to the left, only to pause again as a person bowed. Followed by another one and another one as one by one the few demons left bowed down their heads to you and in turn you blinked... before looking up at the much taller blonde whom chuckled.

"Congratulations, Dear Y/n. You've earnt it."

"Earnt...what?"

"Sakura's rank and nobility title of course. When a Kizuki Bride or Groom is challenged for their title then the challenger also placed their own title on the line against them. If Sakura would've won against you...Well then I'd have to refer to HER as my new fiance. However since you bested her, and she was of a noble status..."

Your eyes widened as he trailed off. "No."

"Oh yes. Congratulations Dear. You weren't nobility before but now you've officially been raised to the title of Lady Y/n Tamayo. And with it...the benefits of being accepted fully into our society."

Silence clung onto everything in the Dwell as you walked almost numbly through its halls with a frown. Karaku thrown over your right shoulder still and Douma happily walking on your left. Servants alike stood watching and stopped what they were doing to watch the three of you walk by, instant bows greeted you but this time there was a different feel about it. When they bowed to you before it WASN'T because you were above them, but more out of politeness for being engaged to so many powerful people. Now...it just felt like you were royalty and they saw themselves as beneath you. You didn't like that. You didn't like them having to bow to you. Is this how Akaza felt when he asked Eri to stop bowing to him? You wondered. After a moment you finally stopped. Karaku blinked as he was finally leaned over and slowly placed down onto his feet and stood up to his full height. Blinking as your tired eyes looking back up to him.

"Are you alright?"

"I-..." He nodded. "Yeah. I uh...I don't think I'll be bothered anymore!" He tried smiling like usual and chuckling. "It was also pretty romantic of you to try and rescue me.~ Can't say I've ever had the pleasure of a girl doing something like that for me before.~..Um. but I gotta ask. Why DID you do all that for me if you hate me so much?"

"Is that what you think I think of you?" Your body swayed lightly to the left. "Karaku." Green eyes blinked as you grabbed his hand. "I don't h-hate you. I'm just a little frustrated with your behavior. I've seen h-how much you care about your family, Urogi even told me about how you help take care of his wings." His eyes widened. "You might be annoying a lot of the time, but that's not justification for what Sakura tried to do to you. Forcing love isn't right. If she wasn't going to stop t-then something had to be D-Done."

"I-...I don't...know what to say."

"A thank you would be nice, and promise me to not blame yourself again for her actions. How-However.. You're still not going to court me unless you can prove that you can respect my boundaries in a way I'm satisfied...in..."

Purple eyes rolled up into the back of your head as the world darkened and tilted over, and you fell towards the ground-

"SHIT!!" Karaku was quick to catch the limp woman in his arms and hold her ragdoll body in a dip. Her entire world fading to black. "Oh shit shit shit!! SOMEONE GET A HEALER!!" Someone immediately ran quickly away down the hall away from them. Douma blinked... before a cold hand reached over to press against her jugular. "IS SHE DEAD?! IS SHE GONNA WAKE UP?! OH GODS SEKIDO'S GOING TO KILL ME IF AKAZA DOESN'T GET TO ME FIRST!!" Green eyes flashed with much panic.

"Oh she's perfectly fine." Douma smiled wider and removed his hand from her throat. "I feel a pulse so she's definitely alive. She's probably just exhausted. The poor dear must've exhausted herself pushing her limits against Sakura. She'll be perfectly fine after napping for a few hours." He then blinked and hummed. "Although his does put a damper on our lunch plans.... We'll probably have to push back our plans to tomorrow morning. Oh bother. "

"THAT'S WHAT WORRIES YOU RIGHT NOW?!"

You didn't wake until many hours later. When you did, you slowly found yourself waking up in your soft futon and covered in extra fluffy blankets and an extra soft pillow under your head. On your body was a new kimono as you revealed sitting up and peeling the blankets from your body. Dazed, you sat there for a moment blinking at nothing for a moment.

"Hey you!" You jumped up whirling around to blink at rainbow irises. "So you're finally awake."

....You blinked before in a panic grabbing the blankets and pulling them back over your body. "DOUMA?! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM?!''

"Well, you passed out and after a healer saw you I thought it'd be best if someone watched over you just in case something happened."

"I THOUGHT WE AGREED YOU WOULDN'T ENTER MY ROOM WITHOUT PERMISSION!!"

"UNLESS it was a legitimate emergency!," he pointed out smiling, "Someone suddenly passing out after violently fighting someone is an emergency. What if something happened while you were alone? No one would be here to help you. And you did say you wanted to talk to me as soon as I got back. Here I am!"

You just blinked at his stupidly smiling face before scowling and pointing at him. "You intercepted my letter to Sakura!!"

He didn't even try to deny it. "I did!"

"You lied to Karaku and his brothers about me and Sakura!"

"I did!"

"Douma, that's a HUGE violation of trust! Why would you do something like that right after that talk we had About privacy and respecting my boundaries?!"

"Well ..If I'm being completely honest, I was legitimately trying to help while keeping it as peaceful as possible."

You blanked staring at him. "...WHAT?! HOW IS THAT HELPING?!"

"You see Sakura did legitimately think that you knew what her intentions were outside of the incident with my dear Daki, and when you beat her the first time she was too humiliated to try it anything believing you bested her. If anyone found out that you DIDN'T actually fight her for Mr. Karaku's hand-..." He shrugged while explaining still with a smile. "She might've confronted you again but tried something much more underhanded. Your letter and gift would've sent her after you."

"Then what was the point of telling everyone else that?!"

"To make it seem believable and to put Upper Moon Four at ease once more. If Sakura had seen them not knowing about your 'victory' against her it would've raised suspicion. I figured since you've shown disinterest in Karaku specifically courting you that you'll just reject him afterwards and he'll live happily knowing that the entire situation was as far as he knew resolved. Sakura would've been too humiliated to try anything else especially after my warning after poor little Daki was so humiliated." He then sighed again. "You confronting her today only undid my work and resulted in her actually challenging you for real.'' He then smiled again brightly. "But on the bright side you legitimately bested her and so this entire thing has been resolved either way! Isn't that all that matters?"

"I-....RRRRRRR!!!" Your hands grabbed your face and slowly ran down it before looking back at him with a giant inhale. "Douma." He hummed smiling at you. "You can't just go behind my back like that and do something like that! Believe it or not I think it comes off as very distrustful."

Douma's smile vanished as he legitimately looked confused again before tilting his head. "Really? I thought me doing the right thing would make you happy."

"NOT when it's something behind my back like that. Douma, you need to understand that doing something that I don't know about and LYING about it afterwards to other people About it is something BAD. If someone like Jade spoke about and did things behind Daki's back like you said she did, wouldn't it be reasonable that I wouldn't want that for myself?" You tried again using Jade and himself for a comparison he'd understand.

She again looked thoughtful as if thinking... before slowly nodding and smiling again. "Yes! I do believe I see that now! I will be sure to keep that in mind going forward!"

"Good. Going forward anything behind my back and lying AND stealing any of my letters is OFF LIMITS!! I'll only give you a pass this ONCE! Understand?" He nodded. "Good. I also want you to apologize for doing that."

"Alright! I'm sorry!"

"Good. I want you to apologize to Karaku and his entire family too after this!" You pressed pointing.

"I promise I will right after we have dinner together!"

"Good. Wait... What's going to happen to Sakura then?"

"Well...Since the remnants of a highly illegal love potion was found in her home and she had intent to use it on a Kizuki, she's now arrested and put in solitary confinement for treason. Don't worry. Hairou is VERY good at his warden job. She'll remain there until Kokushibo-dono arrives and decides on what her punishment will be."

"And the love potion?!"

"I destroyed it personally. It won't ever be used again. "

You sighed in relief. "Well..Did you send for her to be given medical treatment?'"

His held tilted at you. "You are a strange person. A person attacks you intent on causing you harm possibly even to kill you and take everything you hold, and yet you ask for her life to be spared and for your enemy to be healed."

"DOUMA?!"

He chuckled again at you... but his chuckling was without joy as usual. ''Yes. She'll get it. Hairou won't like it however. You see he enjoys his torment."

''... What's Sakura's family going to think about this?" Your eyes narrowed at him. "You're not going to harm them are you?"

"Oh no. There'd be no point in doing that! Nothing will really change with them other than maybe some rumors and ridicule. Sakura was always a spoiled, lose cannon. Jade however might ask me to release her. Despite their very opposite personalities, the sisters are oddly close. I wouldn't worry about her either. She knows from our last talk that any rebellion from her will make me most...'irritated'."

You shivered at the tone he took but shook it off. "...I guess that's good." You then glanced at his arm, and contemplated something before sighing. "Thank you.'' He hummed in question. "When you restrained me from doing something I might've regretted. Thank you for that. I also want to... apologize for somethings I've done to you."

"Oh?" He looked... interested now.

"You obviously don't... perceive things the same way I or anyone else does. I have to explain myself and we need to talk more clearly in order to understand one another. I should've just talked to you sooner and not just try to trick you or push you into the Dwells most." No matter how much you DIDN'T regret pushing him in the most, twice, or trying to trick him, it'd be better to just...let it all go. You'll be better just going by what you learnt now to navigate around him. "I also apologize for attacking you earlier. I shouldn't have done that either. I won't be doing that again." Unless he gives you a reason to.

He just smiled wider and wider. "All is forgiven! I honestly didn't mind anyways! That was just you getting all that compacted stress out wasn't it?"

"... Actually now that you bring it up, I feel...a lot better now than I have been since I've gotten here months ago."

"You must've taken out all your stress out on Sakura and a bit of myself until there simply wasn't any left in your entire body! Your head should be clearer now!"

"Yes. It is actually..." You then looked at him. "Has Rui arrived home yet?"

"The child has not."

"Good. There's something about his family I need to talk to you about." He hummed again. "Months ago, his biological mother and all his brothers and sisters arrived in your care. I want you to ensure that woman and her children has everything they need for a comfortable life. Education, medical care, whatever they need."

"Oh yes! Akaza had spoken to me about that!" He nodded. "It's all been taken cared of. I even took the liberty of finding a suitable male figure for the children can imprint onto until they're old enough to no longer need a father figure in their lives. You need not worry about them, however I will take your request into account next time I need to check over things back home." His eyes became half lidded. "However I am surprised again. You're concerned about a woman whom abandoned her child and children whom no longer see Rui as family, and you do not seem to not hold any hate against them for it."

"Trauma effects people differently in different ways. I don't like how they treated him but it's not my place to say how she chooses to handle that pain. And I HAVE seen her." You stressed out pointing at him. "I've seen how she interacted with her daughters and her other sons. She loved those children. They don't need punishment, they need help."

His smile widened. "Then it's a good thing Im used to helping people of all kinds."

You didn't get a chance to say anything else before the door opened up and you both looked over. There was two people standing there. A servant girl with a large tray of food, and Rui whom stood there staring at you. Before he frowned deeply.

"Oh come on! How many dates are you going to go on this week?!"

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a-gal-with-taste · 2 years

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Better Waves of Red

Summary: A betrayed and deposed Son of Zaun is drinking away his troubles alone at a bar. Someone, also seeking a drink of sorts, takes notice, and offers an alternative that could potentially help both of you.

Warnings: Vampire!Reader, first-meetings, blood (obviously), post-betrayal angst, depression, implied PTSD, mentions of alcoholism/addiction, hurt-comfort

He feels as though he is hunted.

A cornered piece of prey, with the world pressing down around him in ever which direction; claws reach from all corners, eager to sink in. Eager to draw blood, though so much has been spilt already. Everytime he blinks the remaining eye he has, Silco imagines the fangs brushing against his jugular, the taste of his life-itself clogging the senses of whatever predator has claimed him for supper...

When he opens his eyes, the Son of Zaun raises the bottle, this time not to his lips, but to his eyes. Squinting through the amber glass, trying to decipher where exactly was the hallucinogenic that was causing him to think of such a hunt.

Silco didn't find it, and didn't exactly care.

Regardless of it's sense-dulling properties or bewildering violent imagery, alcohol was alcohol. And he needed it as much as his would-be hunter needed blood.

Though he was no drunk, the young man tilted his head back and poured another quarter of the bitter, revolting, cheap and releasing beer straight down his throat-

-filling his lungs, forcing them to expand with water, not air. Filling faster and faster, only ever faster even as his senses begin to slow. His struggles begin to lessen, and die along with him, but the water only courses faster, and faster, straight through his throat, so natural it was like he was born to drown-

Silco squeezes his eye furiously tight, almostly enough to match the pain of his ravaged one. He tips the bottle down so instead of a trickling line, it's a downpour of booze straight into his open mouth. Straight into his throat.

He will not be daunted by liquid. Not blood, not alcohol and even though it seems to still roar in his ears, not water.

It was bad enough the world saw him claw his way back to life on the mudbank, quaking like a one-man hurricane as he frantically and paranoidingly sweep the water from him like it was diseased. It probably had been, but that was no excuse for him to scream behind gritted teeth, when he hobbled out of a makeshift shelter and found more rain.

Silco refuses the idea that he will balk. Refuses the very notion that he will spend the rest of his life in cowardice against against that which reminds him of the red waves that already haunt his sleep. That the torrent of burning ale down his gullet isn't making him twist his free hand into his jeans. That he's on the verge of sputtering it all out...

Silco refuses, and doesn't stop gulping down the liquid with his mouth wide-open, until the last drop drizzles down. He then slams the bottle back onto his table, rasping, shaking and loathing everything, because he can feel his body shaking. His vision, perhaps permanently halved, is already swimming and dulling at the edges, and the ex-Son muses darkly about how he looks forward to fading into sweet, drunken oblivion...

"Hm. I think not, that'll only make it worse."

He doesn't even hear them. Not surprising, this isn’t his first bottle of the night, but even with the distant sound of their voice, Silco doesn't register his guest standing behind him, not until they reach over his head from where they stand behind and place a single finger between his furrowed brows.

Body stilling, the touch is firm, and colder than ice. But Silco feels it's more than just the touch that keeps him still, as the smooth index slowly slips along his skin, center-line on his forehead. Following the slope of his skull, he feels his head tipping back as the touch nears his sweat-lined hairline, and with that he feels... recession.

It's the best way to describe it.

A recession of emotion, of senses... no. A particular sense of ebbing from his senses, but not his wit or strength. If anything, it's those senses that are making a specific, sharp return as the numbing effects of alcohol is pulled straight from Silco's body.

It's freeing.

It's refreshing.

It's terrible.

Because everything-else comes flooding back, and it leaves him gasping, fully conscious and not a damn thing dulled by inebriation. Not the rage, not the pain, not the roaring of water still filling his ears, his veins, his throat-

The full weight of everything has returned to him, and Silco could just break under the load, if it wasn't so humiliating.

And if he didn't have a target besides himself now.

"I'm going to kill you." He breathes, darkly but almost astonished from going fully-drunk to sober at the power of a single touch. A snort, as said-touch pulled away, "Oh, I'm sure you can try," You muse as you walk around to join across from him at his solitary table. "You'll find it to be rather difficult, but I might just let you have a couple of go's so you can let all that... perpetual rage and misery out."

A laugh; Silco can't even pretend it isn't fractured, now that the alcohol wasn't avaliable in his system to loosen his tongue.

"What would you know of rage and misery?"

"Not more than you, evidently. I can sense it... reeking from you, from at least half a mile out. It's pretty distracting, even on a busy night like tonight, you know."

The forgotten Son of Zaun raises a brow, a twist of a smirk on his lips. "Oh, do forgive me. I'm not yet used to the events of the last week, and the magnitude of recent changes in my life."

"If you think it's overwhelming you, I don't think you could survive how it feels for me," You sigh, languishing picking up his empty bottle to look into the glass with only partial interest. It was fascinating, truly, how mortals clung to the vile stuff. The substitute your condition had left you with wasn't exactly ambrosia itself, but ale was something particularly horrendous in scent, especially when one's senses are heightened.

Speaking of which, you felt a spike of apprehension tinge the air, and glanced up, watching a single seafoam-green locked eye on you. "... Am I supposed to apologize for making you uncomfortable?" The young man hissed lowly, sounding both enraged and awry. A cornered animal indeed. "No, you're not supposed to do anything," You tilted your head, quieking a brow. "But I hope you'll at least hear out my request. I think it could be of-use to both of us, with clearing out the various distractions we have..."

Only one was still visible, but you could imagine both his eyebrows were raised in disbelief.

"You want to help me?"

"Helping you helps me, yes, but I won't force you into it," Such a thought made you cringe. "But your... agonized state is rather tainting in the atmosphere, it's very hard to focus on anything else besides it." "I can hardly focus on anything else... especially now that you've decided to take my drink away," He glowers darkly, fingers reaching up to brush the edge of the bandage in emphasis.

A beat, than you tilt your head, eyes flashing as you simply, and quietly ask:

"Would you like to... Not think about it? All the pain, all that haunts your mind, for a little while?"

"... Why do you think I was drinking?"

"This would be a bit different," You explain, swallowing back a dry chuckle at his deadpan tone, tapping the bottle back onto the table. "Blissful, I'm told it is, though I don't remember it myself. You'll sleep - much more than you're getting already," A purpled-tinged green eye narrows into a slit. "It will all be temporary, but we would both get what we want. You, a moment of peace-"

"And you?"

His apprehension hadn't faded - obviously, the leftover anxiety from his recent experiences soured the aura about him, but his hesitancy of the current situation, and your presence, was being stained with not just sharp-nerves, but curiosity. "What do you get out of it?"

A beat, then you smiled. Silco immediately locked his eyes on the tips of your fangs, just barely peeking on the surface of your bottom lip. "My fill."

Immediately, there's a knife in his hand, but whether from awe, paralyzation or that same curiosity, it looked like not even the young man is sure why he stills his hand instead of plunging it into you.

"I won't force you," You repeat, firmly and slow in your assurance. "I'll leave this bar right now, if you're so adverse. Let you figure out that drinking yourself to death is not a long-lasting cure, all on your own, while I try not to keel over from your everlasting misery."

"All I will say, is that it's a mutually beneficial agreement... no different than a... one-night stand, really, we'll both be sated for an evening, and then go our separate ways."

A narrowed eye was the response, followed by low, drawling words from the young man. "Will I... become like you?"

"What, a monster?" A blink, and Silco let out his first true laugh in over a week. "Oh, trust me... monsters don't look like you. None that I fear of, not anymore." Humoring him with a small smile of your own, you shrugged one shoulder, "Don't hear that too often." You added with a small shake of your head, "And no. Not only because I think it'd be a terrible idea to give you the abilities I have, but also I doubt you have enough of a constitution to live an existance as mine, even with it's added benefits."

Especially with the added benefits. You had nearly collapsed outside the bar when you passed it, feeling such an intense wave of bitterness, anxiety, pain, desperation, fury, by hell-itself was this a furious man...

And grieving. His personal, wretched grief, was just as overwhelming to you as the rest of his flaring emotions, and that was all when he was beyond inebriated past what was healthy for his slim, wiry bodyweight.

You couldn't imagine making him endure an existance where not only would there be no end in sight to his internal woes, but he would also be privy to the aura of agony in others.

At the very least, this existance you had provided a method of easing those pains. And after a long, long moment, the man across from you glances back down to your lips. "Will it hurt?"

A sting, you assured him. And it would all fade away, if only for a short time. It would return, upon awakening, but it would fade away for a bit.

"... Would you come back?" Now, hilariously, was your turn to gaze at him in apprehension, and his smile was grim, yet fangless.

"If I become addicted to something that makes me forget in the short-term, I'd rather it be something that would be able to tell me to stop. Curb my worst impulses..." He reached over, and didn't shiver when his hand brushed against your perfectly frigid one. Nor did he comment when you shuddered instead, taking the empty bottle from your grasp and setting it aside. "...Bottles can't exactly be trusted to tell me when to stop, especially if I'm rather eager to chase any sort of release."

You hummed, understanding, but consideringly. "It wouldn't be every day. Possibly not even every week," You warned, but the dark-haired young man only shrugged. "I'm getting used to disappointment. Would you permit me lodgings for me to get my barings in the morning?"

"I have a place, Promenade-level. I go further below during the day. You'd be able to eat breakfast under sunshine..." You took a pointed glance at his pasty-skin tone, from life deep underground and obvious signs of the toll his body had taken in recent days. In response, he gave you an equally pointed look, and you rolled your eyes before continuing.

"You'd be disorientated for a couple hours, but it would pass quickly. I'm not sure the long-term effects though, I've never... had an arrangement like this before." Your admittance only made him hum, for, obviously, Silco had never done anything like this before either.

"Any restrictions? Personal or..." A beat, and you swear you saw a smirk at the corners of his mouth. "...dietary?" "Ha. If you must smoke, I ask that you refrain from at least an hour before our meet-up. Clogs up the senses, it just makes it..." You couldn't even go on, mouth pursing in distaste with a disgusting shake of your head.

"And where would I find you, in order to meet in regards to our arrangement?" He inquires with a raised brow, and you only smile. "You don't. I'll find you."

Silco gives a noncommittal hum, remaining eye going hooded as he ponders you. There is still weariness as he regards you, of course, but it is now backed by a more powerful sensation than fear or the courage of drink: curiosity.

Curiosity, and a desire to see how far this arrangement benefits him. A moment of bliss is but a moment, but the hints at your abilities are just as much of a temptation. A heightened empathetic sense. Apparent lack of mortality, if your offhand remarks are to be believed. Not to mention the impressive job you did of casting out the effects of the ale straight from him mind and body...

It was borderline magework. Unfathomable, and yet sitting right across from him, a growing frown as he leans back oh so casually back in his seat, considering all the benefits that sit on the otherside of the table.

"If I were to decline," The dark-haired young man said slowly, twirling his knife between two fingers at an equal lagging-pace. "What would you do? Where would you go? Find another to quench your appetite?"

"That's the goal, things get... unpleasant if I don't." Another hum. "Any unpleasantness that I would be on the receiving end of?" You shook your head, unsurprised at the self-preservation, and though disappointed, and somewhat miffed that you'd likely have to travel to the opposite end of the Undercity just to get out of sense-range from this trauma-ridden mess of a man, you started getting up our of your seat regardless with a sigh.

"You can just say no, instead of questioning every minor detail. If you're truly so hesitant, i'll leave you to your wallowing-"

Silco 'slips' his hold on the knife. A single drop of blood oozes out on his thumb, a thin slice that'll heal by morning.

But it's enough to make you freeze in place.

"...Oh, that's not fair." "Hm, no. But it got your attention," The young man hums as he brings his thumb up to eye-level, studying the perfect drop perched on his skin, balanced by his steady hand. "Am I really that delectable to you?" He asked, honestly curious with his casual, smooth tone as he glances up to lazily watch you settle back into your seat, pointedly looking anywhere but him as you gnaw on the inside of your cheek.

"It's not really about the taste... it's as much of a rush for you as it is for me. It's..." It's a struggle to explain, is what it is.

"... it's like a breath of fresh air; it's like life. Only for a short while but... it makes you feel alive again. And that's the only way to survive, really... finding something that makes you feel alive."

For a moment, there is silence. More apprehension from your side, than his now, as his guarded look slowly melts into comprehension, and an internal debate that you don't see. But you find the result out soon though.

"You may feed from me. But only from me." Silco says, ignoring your narrowed gaze. "Whenever you require my services, come find me. I'll make time."

"... why?"

Silco smiles, and it's fangless, but makes you shift in your seat regardless. His bright eye glints with all the sharpness his teeth don't have. "I'm selfish. Or, rather... I'm learning to be more selfish with myself and my goals, these days. Why should I not also be selfish in my efforts to... feel alive, as well?" Still holding it aloft slightly, not allowing the single bead of crimson to slip off his skin, the former Son of Zaun leans with his elbow on the table, and smiles at the hunter.

He is not meek prey, for he offers the bleeding digit towards you without a care or a flinch. Smiles, showing a flash of cracked teeth, when he spots the slight dilation in your eye as you risk a glance at the red on his finger.

Your eyes don't move from it, now that it's in your line of sight.

"It's yours," Silco says, nonchalantly. "So long as you remain mine. Agreed?" The risk he takes with this, is calculated; he's not so foolish as to trip over himself in search of allies, but Silco knows the road ahead of him isn't one he can traverse alone. And to cast you aside, and all the abilities you have host of, would be nothing short of foolish. Not to mention it's at the simplest of cost, one which has some personal benefits for him...

Silco wasn't lying, when he said he is learning to live more selfishly.

And are you not just as selfish to stride up to him with an offer that benefits you so much? Perhaps you were made for each other, if such was the case.

It does take a few extra minutes from your eyes to drag from the cooling drop of blood on his finger, back to his solitary eye.

Then, without looking away from him, you quietly raise your hand, and wave over the bartender to pay off his tab.

Roles are an uncertainty now.

Silco refuses to see himself as prey in his position, even as the definite hunter leans over him. A small frown flickers onto your face, as you reach up and brushes some dark strands off the bandaged side of his face. "You're anxious," You say matter-of-factly, but he only scoffs slightly, denying. "Impaitent. You could've done this at the bar."

Now it's your turn to scoff, "What, the beds too good for you? When was the last time you even laid on a mattress?"

One as comfortable as this? Not in his lifetime he hasn't.

Your eyes soften, "You can leave," You murmur quietly, "There are plenty of those out there, stuck in their own miseries who I can help, if you don't want to-" Silco was already shaking his head, jaw set. "Didn't peg you for the selfless kind, though," He comments shortly, and you let out a small sigh. "Well... not much else to do with all this extra time I've got. Have to use my talents for something, you know?"

A hum sounded.

Clearly, he wasn't in the mood for bonding, his knuckles tight from where his hands were otherwise loosely clasped on his stomach, while you leaned over him as you sat on the bedside. "... I want this," He finally murmured, cracking open the sole remaining cyan eye as he gazed over at you. His mouth set in a grimace, but it wasn't directed at you as he admitted almost furiously, at himself, "I need this. I can't... it can't stay in my head. I can't keep going like this-"

A palm, frigid, touches his chest. He freezes under the cold touch, but you don't move besides that, gazing down at him. Your residence in the Promenade is close enough to the surface that moonlight shines through, and it halos around you.

"I can't make it go away forever," You murmur. "But I can make it go away for a little bit. And if-" "When." He's quick to correct you, rather sternly, and despite your placating tone, you can't resist the good-natured eyeroll. "Okay... when you need this again, I can make it go away for a bit too. Clear your head, let you have some peace..."

Silco feels his body remain still as your hand trails from his chest, up, passing the yellowing-bruises on his neck, and again pushing some hair from his remaining eye as he looks up at you. Your touch is cold but solid. Any remaining thoughts that perhaps this entire interaction, the trek up the Undercity and meeting you, is just a drunken mirage, vanishes at the solid, firm touch on his face.

Besides the trick you pulled at the bar, it's the first touch he's felt in nearly a week. And the kindest he's felt in that time, since the previous left two large hand-marks on his neck.

There's silence as Silco considers this, and when you finally drop your gaze from his - he hadn't realized you'd been simply staring at one another for so many minutes - his hand reaches up to quickly grab yours when you go to pull away.

"Please. I just..." His eye blinks closed, chest rising again with the long inhale he makes. "... I need this. I need to forget it all. Even just for a night. Please."

Ice, is what your skin feels like. But he doesn't flinch from it as your other hand comes up to cup his unscarred cheek. By sheer exhaustion, uncaring, or the fact that he knows he wants this, he doesn't pull away as you breath out in understanding. "Okay."

Your other hand remains in his grasp, perhaps as a lifeline of support as you shift, half-laying, half-leaning over him. The thumb smooths down his jawline, catching just beneath the curve to ease his head back onto the pillows.

"... does it have to be on the neck?"

"Unfortunately... I'll be gentle though."

Silco feels the corner of his mouth quirk up in your response to his quiet, dry critique. Tightens his fingers around your wrist when a breath as cold as wind crosses over his skin. A beat, and he feels your nose gently brush against his chin as you dip down lower.

For a moment, Silco wonders indeed if perhaps he really did fall into some drunken, stupor-reality. Perhaps found himself stumbling into a brothal, because the pressure of your lips at his pulse almost feel like that of a lover.

Then there's indeed a sting, and a ragged breath whistles through his chipped teeth. His free hand finds the back of your head, but the clenching on your hair is softened as a cool palm slips further up, cupping his cheek. "Oh..." Silco breaths out, mouth falling open as his head tips further back.

It... ebbs out of him.

Trickling away more gracefully, it's not the recession he felt from the bar, but like waves slowing their lapping on a shore. A breathless laugh slips off his tongue at the thought, as he feels the cool press of your tongue lapping at a drip of red that's almost burning in comparison.

"I got you," You murmur against his skin, thumb brushing the angular curve of his cheek as you dip your face closer, fangs pricking back into his skin as you close your eyes, equally letting yourself relax as you feel his body slacken in the haze, falling deeper into the bliss you're able to provide for him. "You can let it all go, I've got you..."

The promise is enough for his eye to slip close entirely, and though this time, he truly is prey in the claws of a hunter, fangs literally at his jugular, Silco feels a smile cross his face.

It'll only be for a night, this first time, in which he makes you feel alive again, and you give him an evening of peace. A decent trade, and the part of his mind that's still able to think of his goals, his plans, knows that your other abilities will be of even greater use on top of this...

But for now, it's enough for him. It's more than he's gotten since the night everything fell apart, and he downed in blood and muddied waters, and so it is enough.

Fingers slowly trailing through your hair in his grasp as he loses himself into, colder, but much better waves of red...

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plush-rabbit · 3 years

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Aphrodisiac Induced Reader + The Dateables

A/N: I had this thought and i really had to get it out of my head (it was org gonna be just simeon cause,,, i love repressed feelings so much but then i gave it to the rest!!) (all consensual btw!!)

Separated because it was gonna be too long with all of them, the brothers should come out soon

A/N: I had this thought and i really had to get it out of my head (it was org gonna be just simeon cause,,, i love repressed feelings so much but then i gave it to the rest!!)

You really should have known better than to take food that was offered by Beel. You know that he has the right intentions in mind- that him sharing food is a miracle of itself and rejecting him would have his brows furrowed and lips pursed into a pout- but he’s also gluttony. He can eat whatever he wants and as much as he wants without so much of a stomach ache. You, on the other hand, cannot. You should have seen this coming when the cupcake you bite into filled your mouth with such an indescribable sweetness that it made your teeth ache, the flavor otherworldly and leaving you hungry for me, taking greedy bites out of the cutely decorated pastry. There was a sharp pang in your stomach, your body on fire and sex dripping with every nudge that your body made.

You couldn’t be alone right now- or maybe you should have been left alone, maybe that would have saved you from humiliation of your dripping arousal that was leaking past your slit. You’re quick to rise, standing on shaky legs, curled over as your cheeks burn, sweat beading against your skin, only worsening the sensitive state that you are in. It’s fast-acting, making your breaths come out in heated gasps, and everything just feels a bit too much, just too good for it to be normal. An aphrodisiac- a strong one that is making you impossibly aroused. You suck in a sharp breath and go to the person who you know will treat you right.

Barbatos:

Barbatos is simply surprised that you chose to go to him in such a needful state. But soon, he realizes how… stressful it is to have you around. Lord Diavolo was kind enough to give him the day off, stating that he’ll be spending it with Lucifer before closing the door with quite an obvious wink. But now, you follow him around, holding his hand, begging for him to do something- to turn back the clock just a few minutes before you had that pastry. You even promised that you wouldn’t get caught but he remains steadfast in his decision, not wanting to risk another repeat of the last mistake.

There is little that can surprise the butler, but when you push yourself against him, grabbing his hand and placing it flat on your belly, his fingertips above the waistband of your shorts, he can feel his face grow hot. He sputters out for a second before regains his composure, simply pulling his hand away and commenting that he’ll make you something to dim the fire that is your body. But you don’t quit, you push yourself against him, begging for him to help you now, that you’re too hot, that your clothes are melting your skin and your flush against him.

He only has so much willpower when it comes to you. And here you are, pressed against him, begging for him to take care of you, grabbing his hand and placing his index and middle finger in your mouth. He visibly stiffens, and when your mouth closes you hollow your cheeks, the soft, slick insides pressed against his fingers. There’s a crackle of energy around and soon you're gagging on his finger, the manicured nails turning into claws, filling your mouth exponentially, spit sliding between the corners and your eyes pricking with tears.

You are much too needy to stand still, to even rest against him is something that you find difficulty in without resulting in your humping his leg. You beg him, twist your hand in his and remove his glove, holding it tight in your hand and begging for him to touch you- to make the pain between your legs go away and feel good. As quick as a blink of an eye, you’re against the wall, his fingers deep into your mouth, his smile softening for a second. He leans close to your ear, his other hand working on clothes on your back, stripping you with every gagging sound made when he pushes a bit further. His tone is almost dangerous as he tells you that you asked for him to take care of you and that is simply what he’s about to do. He pulls away, his smile still as he leans close to you, his lips ghosting over his knuckles, asking if this is really what you want and if you give him a moment, he’s sure he can make you a tea that can stop your arousal. But when you gag around him, your brows knitting together, looking absolutely like a piece of art with his fingers in your mouth and eyes full of tears, he simply nods.

His mouth is on yours, and he can taste the lingering effects of the aphrodisiac on you- the sweetness, the almost bitter taste that lingers behind, the totality of it all making him feel as if he’s going to go into a craze. You poor thing, no wonder you’ve been so needy. Barbatos holds you up, letting you rut against him, feeling your sex pulse and with a simple slip of his hand, your creaming against yourself and against him, clinging tight to him, calling his name out in such a lewd moan that it pushes away all rational thought and simply release his cock, pearls beading from the slit and you look upon him with doe eyes, kissing him once more as his tail wraps around your torso, the forked end of it teasing at your nipples.

Diavolo:

The Lord of Devildom has always been kind to you, understanding and accommodating to you even when he has always seemed so busy. It would make sense that you would go to Lord Diavolo, who welcomes you with open arms, a gentle hand on your back that makes your knees buckle. He realizes his mistake- his eyes narrowing as he sees your flushed state and it’s a wonder that you’ve even made it to him without a trail of succubi and incubi at your tail. He can smell your heat from miles away. It’s intoxicating, hanging heavy in the air and as sweet as candy itself.

He lays you on the bed and he regrets it all in that very moment. He sees how small you are in his bed, the way that your body curves and how your hands try to find something to grip onto. He has enough restraint to pull himself away from you, taking a step back only to realize that your scent is filling the room, creeping at every crevice and corner, latching onto his clothing. Your hips thrust against the bed and he bites the inside of his cheeks- something bitter and hot filling his mouth. You call his name and he has to remain strong no matter how sweet the sound of it is.

The bed is soundless as he sits beside you and your hands latch onto his jacket, pulling him close to you. He makes a noise of surprise but allows it, watching as you lay yourself on his lap, your back arched over his lap and eyes so hazy and lust-filled that he forgets for a second to avoid touching you. His hand curves and pets the top of your head, smiling when you push yourself against his touch but then you rise and he’s forgotten that you are desperate for the very thing he’s willing to give to you.

You’ve laid him down, sitting above his abdomen, your hand on his chest, as your lower yourself to look him in the eyes. Your fingers squish beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, feeling the soft tissue of the breast and he has to admit that it feels divine. Your breath is a phantom above his lips and his hands move to grab your hips. He should pull away, but he finds that his hands are stuck to you, unable to budge from where they rest. He shouldn't be kissing you, he shouldn’t be ignoring the way that your hips are rotating above his, how you’re whining and mewling at the very action of kissing him. But he does, and he lets you kiss him, lets you weave your hands through his hair and push yourself closer against him until you have to pull away, gasping for breath.

Diavolo has to be careful with you- he treats you like you are made of porcelain, because to him, you are. You are a human, weak and gentle, loving and giving, and he is a demon, a king. He holds you with tender hands, letting his lips burn themselves against your skin, until you’re crying his name, begging for him to just touch you. He’s unable to refuse you, kissing your lips and letting his hand wander to your sex, where with just a simple touch, you release against his hand. He pulls his hand away, kissing your tears and raising his head to glance as his hand that is now coated in thick, shimmering arousal. With a promise to take care of you, he kisses your lips and lets his hand play with your sensitive sex.

Simeon:

Possibly one of the best choices to turn to, Simeon is actually quite happy to know that you chose to spend your sensitive state with him- that you trusted him the most. He’s trying to make it as lovely as possible- as least without actually attending to your needs. He won’t try anything- not that he technically could. But he misjudged the situation. He’s heard of people taking aphrodisiacs but the ones he heard of were made by and for people, not by and for demons. And now as he stares at you, trying so desperately to not slide your hand beneath the waistband of your underwear, he realizes he might have been over his head just a tad bit.

You rest on your knees, your face hidden against the comforter of his bed, lower half raised and legs pinched. Pained whimpers come out muffled, your hands clawing at the comforter, knotting and twisting the fabric in your hands. He can actually see the darkening color of your shorts peek from your crotch. His body suddenly feels hot- whether it’s arousal or embarrassment, he’s not actually sure but he wishes that it were because of the latter.

He turns his gaze away from you, clearing his throat and at that moment he knows he made a mistake. You call his name in a breathy tone that is absolutely sinful. Your arm stretches out, fingers trying to grab at the leg of his white pants. He smiles gently at you, his stomach churning when he catches your gaze- lustful and mouth already open in small moans. He can’t touch you. You know that. He knows that. But you’re in pain and even in your aroused state, you beg for him, you call out and promise that whatever he does, it’s out of good intentions. It’s a lie, of course, but he can hear you slick click against your dripping sex with just the softest of movement. Whatever he does- he can lie that he’s doing it to help you, but he’ll know the truth.

He’s unaware of how and exactly what happened. All he knows is that you’re above him, holding yourself tight to him as your face is hidden in the soft curve of his neck, and he can feel exactly just how hot your body is. Your hips are moving above his, the fabric of his clothes creating a wonderful friction that only makes your pitiful humping quicker and sloppier. You breathe against his neck and he has to dig his hands into the comforter of the mattress to prevent himself from falling to sin. Your sex is bare above him, your body curling tighter onto him, as he can feel an orgasm shake throughout your body.

Simeon whispers a prayer under his breath, closing his eyes and muttering an “Amen” as his arms wrap around your body. You jerk against him, acting as if the simple embrace from him is orgasmic, your thrusts quicker than before, calling his name, repeating it as if it were the only thing on your mind and at this point, he’s sure that it is. He promises to you in a whisper that he won’t go farther than what he’s about to do, pressing a kiss against your head and letting his eyes close. His hips meet yours in a thrust, clothed sex against wet, bare sex, and you moan his name and he can feel tears that burn slide down his neck, your words repeating for him to not stop.

Solomon:

It’s difficult for the sorcerer. He couldn’t even get up from the position if he tried. You're on his lap, legs and arms wrapping around him, and you may think you’re being discreet with your humping disguised as itchiness, Solomon knows better. He’s trying his best to find a spell, to find anything that can cure you of your current ailment. But he’s coming up flat. You’re needy, pinching your leg together and pulling away from where your chin rested on his shoulder to look him in the eye. Your face is flushed, your hair disheveled and for the first time since you’ve entered his room, you’ve stopped your humping.

He’s always had an attraction to you- it went further than just finding you pretty, it passed the need for human contact when you both arrived, it was just him wanting to bask in your warmth, to have you fret over him like he was simply just another person and not a sorcerer who happens to be able to command seventy-two demons. And now, he has you where he has dreamed of countless times, imagined behind closed doors and hand fisted over his cock. He has you with a leaking sex, eyes that are on him and no possible interruptions. His mouth is dry and he is unable to think properly. His hands fall and the book he was keeping afloat falls with a thud to the floor.

The way you call his name, a breathy broken moan when you test your hips against his, your body shuddering and he realizes with disappointment that you had orgasmed already while above him. He had missed it. He bows his head, brows knitted and he can’t think clearly when you’re rutting against him, mumbling apologies beside him, your breath a gentle whisper and then in the same breath you kiss his neck, begging for him to touch you. And as much as he wants to, he can’t. He knows the state you’re in, your mind hazy and thick with everything related to sex, and you aren’t thinking clearly, you’re just thinking of having your sex toyed with. It’s a horrible feeling he’s stuck in.

It doesn’t take much to make him crack. You pull away, when he’s still for far too long, silent even as focused as he was, you could hear the muted moans that he refused to sound out loud. But he's silent now, and when you pull away, he looks crestfallen. You hold his face his your hands, your sex pressed against his, and you can feel his cock poking at the inside of your thigh. You try your chances against, leaning close to him, your mouth on his as you beg for him to touch you, your promises of you wanting this so serious in your voice that makes him willing to kiss your lips, his tongue slipping past and the sound that you make is perverse, loud and running your hands against his body.

Solomon looks at you through heavy lidded eyes, feeling your body rise and fall, your lips on him and his hands are moving, leaving your body burning with just the palm of his hand. Thin, calloused fingers sneak under your shirt and rub against your sensitive nipples, your mouth breaking from him, and your tongue peeks out, swiping at your lips to capture the feeling of his against your one more time. But you’re in pain, more than he is, and he’s pushing you against the bed, kissing your body, hearing you call his name with such want that it makes his cock ache. And then he’s staring at your sex, leaking and throbbing, and his mouth is on you, groaning when your hands knit in his hair and his tongue is swirling around your sex.

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

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GOD I JUST READ UR BAKUGOU FIGHTER ONESHOT AND LAKSLAKSSKKAKAA

im in love, its soooo good😭😭😭😭 and i just wanted to ask, maybe if there is a possibility of u writing the second part w smut!👉🏼👈🏼 🥺

u r so talented!!! i love u💕💕💕

Wow fun fact: I actually love you anon

JUST FOR YOU, I SHALL INDULGE!!👆🏽

Pt.1

Tw:noncon, implied death

He was inside you.

He was grunting.

You were the mortar, he was the pestle.

“Fuck,” he pants inside your mouth. “You get turned on this much by watching dweebs like him get slaughtered out there?”

You sob and try futilely to once again lift his weight off of your pinned body, but he merely slaps your bouncing tits.

“Stay still. Don’t fucking move unless you want me to bruise your cervix. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little masochist? Isn’t that why you didn’t try as hard to push your boy toy out of the rink, huh? ‘Cause a slut like you gets off on watching a man like me show everyone whose boss?”

You cry out muffled against his palm after he gives a particularly rabid thrust, making sure to grind his tip against the sides of your gooey walls.

In a moment of savage triumph, Bakugo lets his slobbery tongue lather itself all over your cheeks. He tastes the tears that collect at the sides of your mouth, he tastes the sweat that gathers on your forehead and he swears it tastes like heaven itself.

He pulls back while continuing to pound you into the mattress, and he takes a good long look at you mere inches away from your face.

You’re a mess. Your eyes are rolling to the back of their sockets while your hair is strewn across the pillows, your hands pinned behind your back in an uncomfortable twist from his meaty hands.

He looks rabid almost. His eyes are everywhere, on your red eyes, on your bouncing tits, on the connection from his body to yours.

Your mouth forms an ‘O’ against his sweaty palm, consistently kept open from your moans and pained whimpers.

It’s true that he’s good with his dick, unfortunately all that talk wasn’t just for show. He had something to prove to you, and prove he did.

Or, is currently doing.

“Answer me, slut. Did you like watching me send your little boyfriend to the hospital?”

He uncovers your mouth and permits you to take a wild gasping breath. The rhythm of his hips cease as he waits for you to gather yourself momentarily, but he doesn’t pull out. You are just a pretty cockwarmer for him right now, no need to think that you deserve any more mercy than he’s already giving you.

“‘D-didnt like it. ‘Wanna go home, lemme go, get off of me,” you sob and weakly pull your wrists out of his hold to push him, but with a mean laugh he flips you over so that your face is smushed agains the pillows and your ass is in the air.

He yanks your hair back and you shriek at the feeling of strands being ripped from your head. He pulls you back up until his mouth is right next to your ear and your spine is lined up with his chest.

“No? You didn’t like it baby?” He hisses mockingly in your ear, and roughly fondles a bruised tit.

“I didn’t like it when you were licking lips with him in front of me either, but I guess we can’t all get what we want…well maybe you can’t. I’ll take whatever the fuck I want from you though.” And with that he lets go of your head and lets you unceremoniously fall back onto the downy covers.

Bakugo grabs your hips and pull your ass back until it’s flush against his dick. He rubs the wet tip up and down your ass, and traces it down your slit, letting it press in a little further when in contact with your entrance.

He doesn’t push it in though. No, he goes lower and lower until the member in his hand parts your lips open and it brushes against your clit.

When it does, your body shudders and jerks at the sensation of his tip swirling in your juices around the little nub and prodding at the sensitive flesh. He thrusts slowly and lets the sensation build at your throbbing clit before pulling back abruptly.

You fist the sheets and try to ignore the way your legs shake. It’s humiliating, you know you can’t even shift to your side lest he props you back face down ass up like a fucking animal.

And he was treating you like one, too.

He panted like a dog when he let your juices drool and collect around his girth, and he clawed and teethed on your neck and tits as if he were some kind of mutt.

It scared you how badly he wanted you.

You feel a soft tapping against your clit and you unconsciously arch your back and mewl when the area buzzes with need.

It almost physically hurts the winding coil in your stomach to hold your hips back from chasing Bakugo’s dick as he pulls away, the fucker knowing that you wanted more no matter how terrified you were of him.

“Aww, what’s wrong kitty? No more bitchy attitude and claws? Don’t worry, I’ll soothe your other kitty pretty soon,” he snorts at his own unfunny joke.

You don’t laugh. In fact, you tremble with indignation and horror when he begins pushing back into you as if it were the only place for his cock to be.

“Fucking shit,” he hisses in pleasure as he slowly sheaths his entire length around your dripping cavern. “Maybe I’ll bring in his broken body and set him up on the chair right there-“ he pushes your head to the side so you can see the armchair he points to. You don’t really care about the stupid chair though, not really when you can feel yourself stretch painfully and ingest every vein that scrapes against your insides.

“I’ll take his broken wrists and snap ‘em back to their normal state just so I can break them again when I cuff him down. I’ll make you look at him right in his pathetic eyes when I’m balls deep inside your slutty cunt.”

You let out an embarrassingly loud moan when he pulls out just to grab onto your hips and slam your ass against his groin again. He watches as your cheeks clap around his dick and spreads your gooey substance around his thighs and stomach.

“Baku-“

Smack

“Katsuki!”

“The fuck did I say about calling me by my name? You want me to bring him out of the morgue and light his body up too? Didnt realize you hated him that much, fuckin’ whore.”

All of a sudden you feel a heavy weight leaning forward and draping itself on your back, suffocating you with feeling filled everywhere. Your sweaty bodies mash, fluids mixing as he grabs your hair like reigns and slaps his hips against yours. The mattress shakes with the force of his thrusts and you swear you can feel him poking through your stomach when he suddenly lets out a loud groan.

He doesn’t give you any kind of indication that he’s cum, you only feel hot ropes of his seed shoot into your poor, wounded pussy. It stings with the mixture of blood that seeps out of you, the clash making an almost cute pink color coming out of your hole.

Bakugo unravels his hands from your hair and peels himself off of you, but when you try to shakily follow pursuit he leans an elbow into your spine, successfully making you squeal in pain and flop back onto the bed.

“Stay down. Teasing sluts like you don’t deserve to move off their natural habitat.” He sneers and uses a thumb to pull your asscheeks apart, inspecting his cum.

He whistles and lightly slaps one cheek, passing the view off as satisfactory.

“Please,” you rasp, opening one bleary eye to watch him pull a shirt on. “Please just tell me if you got him help.”

Katsuki smiles and lights a blunt. He takes a long drag and peers at your wrecked body.

“You didn’t hear what I said earlier?”

Your heart seizes and you slowly pull your head up from the pillow, eyes as wide as the moon.

“Who says he’s even alive?”

#bnha smut #yandere bakugo x reader #bakugo bnha #bakugo smut #tw: implied/referenced violence #tw: noncon #tw: implied death #yandere bakugo #katsuki bakugo oneshot #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki #mha #bnha #bakugo #bakugo x you #yandere bakugo katsuki

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cryptiql · 3 years

Text

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

#⛓.dabi #dabi x male reader #dabi x reader #anime x male reader #mha x male reader #touya todoroki x male reader #my hero x reader #my hero x y/n #boku no hero x reader #x male reader #bnha x you #dabi fluff #dabi angst #dabi imagine

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 3 years

Text

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts

PART 11:

It’s been a long day. A long, arduous, day of plastering on your best customer service voice and smiling pretty for each and every person that walked through your door. Luckily though, your last patient was waiting just behind the door. Rubbing a tired hand down your face, you stride in, trying to look cheerful.

“Hello! So I see from your chart that you’ve-“

The sight that greets you is not what’s on your clipboard. It leaves you stopped in your tracks- trying to figure out why there was a child where a grown woman should’ve been sitting. You check your paper again, making sure you’ve got the right room. You do, and that just confuses you all over again.

The little boy is dirtied, grime lining his cheeks and staining his clothes- he is clearly not the middle aged woman who was on your schedule for today. His hair is a little matted, oily and very obviously unkempt, but that's not what worries you the most. No, what worries you the most is his skin.

All across his forearms, and down his legs is strange tearing. It's like the skin as been split from the inside out, leaving behind a pattern of angry red scabbing and pink scars. They're not clean slices either; the edges are clearly jagged. The cuts were laced together, overlapping and intersecting in a pattern not consistent with any blade or claw you'd ever seen before, and you had seen almost everything.

The sight leaves you reeling, but you don’t falter. A measly schedule mix-up wouldn’t throw you off this easily, especially not with how clearly this little boy needs your help.

"Alright, do you think you could give me your arm?" You ask gently, trying your best to sound friendly. You're not sure if it really matters though- the boy looks straight past you. Focuses his eyes on the wall behind you, like you're not even there. "Can I have your arm? Just to clean up the wound, I promise. It looks like it hurts a lot, and I'd love to help you feel better."

The boy looks at you then, and you're horrified by what you see. He looks at you, big gray eyes and dark eyelashes, but there's nothing there. Absolutely nothing. It's like looking into a void, and all you can see is your own reflection in his irises. It leaves you unsettled. Itching in your own skin, almost tempted to look away.

The boy puts his arm out. Holds it completely straight, locking his elbow robotically. His face stays perfectly impassive. He doesn't even blink while the open cut visibly shifts with his sudden movement.

"I- alright, I'm just gonna clean around the wound. Sound good?" You try again, taking his tiny arm in your hands.

Under your fingers tips all you can feel is skin and bones. He's practically skeletal, and you can't see any veins under skin that was already paper-thin. You're not sure who this boy is, where he came from- but you could tell from a mile away; he didn't have anybody looking out for him.

The thought made your heart break, made your fingers itch with the need to take all his pain away. Fueled by that, you did your best to clean his wound quickly.

It was a fairly large wound, but it wasn't very deep. That would have been a bright side except when you took a closer look, this new cut resembled all the old scars lining his arms and legs. Whatever did this to him, whatever caused the tearing and the weird pattern of scarring, had been doing it for a long time. A disturbingly long time considering the state of the rest of his body.

The current wound is no longer actively bleeding, but it definitely isn’t scabbed yet. Its vulnerable to the air and to infection, so you quickly start cleaning it. The boy doesn’t move the entire time- not even wincing when you spray disinfectant on the cut. It’s the strangest thing you’d ever seen. It was like the boy wasn’t even in the room with you at all. Like he was somewhere else entirely.

He only needs a few stitches, for the broadest part of the cut, but the boy doesn’t react when you tell him that either. He doesn’t flinch when you smear the cold numbing gel, nor does he even blink when you thread your needle. He watches the entire time though- empty eyes tracking each time the needle sinks into his skin. The process is over and done with in minutes, but nothing feels simple. Everything feels wrong and your fingers still itch red-hot beneath your gloves.

A part of you is tempted to use your quirk, just for a second, to see what he was feeling. To try and connect with him at all, since none of your earlier attempts had even remotely worked. But you don’t, you don’t do that- even was you begin cleaning up. You keep your hands to yourself as you wrap up the extra gauze, terrified of what you’d feel if you touched him.

The boy suddenly murmurs something, voice hardly a whisper.

You can’t make out his words- not from where you are a few steps away. So you near a little bit, taking care not to scare him with any sudden movements. He watches you, mouth pressed into a neutral line until you’re close. Then he chews his cheek, takes a deep breath and speaks.

“I-I’m sorry.” The boy whispers.

He shoots forward grabbing onto your wrist with tiny fingers. A chill like you’ve never experienced before runs through you.

It’s like your blood’s gone glacial- freezing up and stalling the flow in your veins. Goosebumps cover your skin almost immediately, teeth threatening to chatter after hardly a few seconds. You’re frozen in place, fear squeezing your heart in your chest, and all your can do is look at the small child holding on to your forearm.

His face is no longer neutral. His eyes are staring right back at you, wide and unbelieving. You can see now that his eyes aren’t translucent gray. They are blue. Pure blue when they catch the white light from the ceiling above and not the dull grey of the floor tiles. You only catch it for a second, then he’s dropping his head, throwing your arm away from him.

“I’m sorry.” He says again.

You spin on your heels, eyes wide. He doesn’t sound like a child. Throughout your time at the hospital, you’d seen many children come and go through the doors, but he didn’t sound like any of them. He sounded withered, tired, like even speaking took the wind out of him. It was a hollowness that had your heart stopping in your chest.

Then he kicks his foot behind him, grabbing at a handle shoved between his heel and the back of the shoe. All you see is the glint of the blade as he unsheathes it and your blood runs even colder than before. You bring your hands up, defensive and terrified but he just blinks at you. Blinks at you and doesn’t even flinch as he drags the serrated blade up the entire length of his forearm. Blood pools around the wound and drips onto the floor, forming an unnaturally perfect circle in front of him. You’re freaked, but the boy is passive. Passive even as the blood congeals, turning thicker and darker until it’s black.

He steps forward, into the center of the black puddle. The void eats him whole.

Your heart lurches in your chest, pulse speeding up, as you watch the void begin to shift once more. The boy’s blood retreats into itself, twisting and pulsating until it’s completely gone. The floor is spotless, and you’re left suffocating.

You can’t remember leaving the room, only bursting through the backdoors and into the cool night. You brace an arm against the brick wall, and snap at the waist gasping for air.

“Oi- leech. Leech.” He calls, and when you look over he’s suddenly right next to you. “What’s up with you, huh? Called your name. What, couldn’t fuckin’ hear me or somethin’?”

You hear his voice now, but it doesn’t do anything to quell the panic. Your heart is racing. “Bakugou. I need to-“ Your breath catches. “Fuck, there was this kid and he- cuts all up his arm and then he took out a knife and s-sliced-“

“A knife.” Bakugou repeats, eyes like wildfire even in the dark. “Where—what the fuck are you talking about? Slow down, can’t understand a damn thing.”

You try to listen to him, you really do, but even repeating the words makes you feel sick.

Throughout your years as a nurse, you’d seen a lot of gore. You’d seen more injuries, and more blood, and more horrific aftermaths than you could recall, but something about this boy made you sick. Maybe it was his small frame- how he couldn’t be any older than 11. Maybe it all the scars lining his arms. Maybe it was his quirk. The way he had to gravely injure himself just to use it.

You try to explain, but the words are coming out wrong. They’re clipped and panicked and Bakugou looks unhappier with each new one punched from your lungs.

“Stop- stop.” He says, fists clenched at his sides. “Did he come at you? Try to get you with the knife?”

“No- I- he got himself. Bakugou, he took the knife and cut himself. And all the blood, it just- it pooled on the floor and turned black and then he stepped in it!” You’re gasping now, hands out in front of you making a wide circle to demonstrate. “He disappeared and I don’t know where he went and I- he was bleeding so much. He was bleeding and he was covered in all these scars and he just cut himself and didn’t- and didn’t-”

You watch Bakugou curl his lip, shifting on his feet. He doesn’t say anything. Not for a long moment, and then he’s surging forward, large hands on your shoulders and forcing you to look him in the eyes.

“You need to breathe.” He says, voice quiet. Like he meant it to carry for just the two of you. “You need to breathe. Can’t do anything if you pass out in the street. So breathe. Just breathe.”

Bakugou squeezes your shoulders, thumbs digging into your collarbone until you look up at him. His eyes are wild, like solar flares, darting back and forth across your face. It’s obvious he doesn’t like what he sees. Still, you try to follow him. Try to look to his own ribcage for guidance until your world stops spinning.

You’re not sure how long you stand there. With his hands on your shoulders, trying to remember how to breathe. It sort of feels like forever.

“I- I need to,” You say suddenly. There’s something caught in the back of your throat, causing you to clear it before speaking once more. “I need to do something. Find him. I-I need to find him. I can’t. He’s bleeding.”

“I know. But you’re staying here. You can’t be reckless.”

Bakugou’s eyes are still blazing, but his voice isn’t like you’ve ever heard it before. It’s quiet, even, just low enough for you and you alone to hear. His thumbs on your collarbone are tracking gentle circles- you wonder if he knows he’s doing it at all.

“You’re gonna go home.” He says. “I’ll take you home, and then I’ll go back out and look. But you’re not goin’ anywhere like this. It’s reckless. Understand?”

Every bone in your body screams for you to fight- to tear off down the alley shouting and screaming until you found the little boy that so desperately needed help. But that seems impossible with the way Bakugou is looking at you now- so sure and certain of his plan. Like there’s no room for argument. Even if you tried to run, you’re sure he’d just catch you.

“You’ll look?” You ask quietly, all wide eyes looking up at him. “I- I need you to promise me. Promise me. Please.”

He squeezes your shoulders once, averting his eyes. “Yep. I will. Promise.”

Then he’s retreating like he’s been burnt, spinning away from you. He drops his hands by his sides, flexing his fingers, and starts off down the alley.

You figure that Bakugou expects you to follow, but your shaking makes that a tall order to fill. Still, you put one foot in front of the other, trying not to see pooling blood in each shadow that lines the empty street.

“What’s he look like?” Bakugou asks suddenly, just a few feet in front of you. “How old?”

“Um, blue eyes, but they look grey unless you really see them. Dark hair. He wouldn’t say his age, or anything really, but he’s definitely no older than 11. Maybe 10.”

That thought has your heart lurching in your chest, spinning your world on it’s axis once more.

“Why- why would he- he was covered in all those scars,” You start, running a heavy hand down your face. “They were from him. His blade- because his quirk is with his blood and- oh god, he was doing that to himself.”

Your heart collapses in on itself. It sits heavy at the bottom of your ribcage, weighing your entire body down with lead. It’s like you’re carrying a mountain with each step, and all you can think about is empty blue eyes and angry red scars.

“Why would he do that?” You ask quietly, eyes following your feet closely just to keep you moving. “Hurt himself just to do that? He can’t want to- there’s no way. Someone has to be making him- someone has to-“

Bakugou spins around, eyes like steel. “Kids’ll do anything to feel powerful.” He flicks his gaze down to his own hands, fingers twitching. Then he shakes his head, begins walking forward once more. “Even hurt themselves and others.”

“So you don’t think- you think he’s doing that all by himself? He can’t, that’s not, it can’t-“

“It can.” His voice is quiet, devoid of all the explosive inflection you’ve come to expect from him. “Trust me, I know.”

Bakugou’s walking in front of you, clad in his hero costume. His black mask is intact, but even without it you’re not sure he’d let you see his eyes. They gave too much away.

Bakugou keeps moving forward, hardly even turns back to make sure you’re still following. He’s quiet, strangely so, and you’re not used to this kind of silence with him. It’s odd- makes the already inky streets bleed darker shadows, every twist and turn heightening your anxiety. You walk a little closer to him.

He turns his head, red eyes catching you close behind him. His lip twitches up for a moment and he slows. Broad shoulder’s slot into place next to yours, and you swear the streets get a little less scary.

“I’ll find him.” He says. “I will.”

Then the silence hangs thick and heavy over the both of you.

Before you know it, you’re opening the door to your apartment building with tired limbs. Bakugou stays back, but you can feel his eyes watch you. Even through the glass when you shut the door behind you. You give him a half-hearted wave but it doesn’t feel right even to you.

You enter you apartment, immediately flicking all the lights on, tilting your lamp until it’s shooting light through every dark shadow. You know that’s not how it works- that the child used blood and not darkness to teleport, but it still helps ease your mind a bit. Anything to get rid of the blackness at the edges of your vision- the blackness that reminds you so much of pooling tar.

Curling your knees up to your chest, you press your back into the cushions of your couch. You wonder when the fear started settling in. At what point on the walk home that the adrenaline faded- when you started wanting the boy and his blood to disappear instead of being found.

You glance at the clock and then to your balcony door, rinse and repeat for the next few hours. Awake and fearful, practically begging Bakugou to show up. As the world seemed to grow more dangerous, you felt more and more helpless without him.

It was a thought that left you feeling even sicker than before, but you couldn’t deny the relief you felt at the sound of knocking.

“Hey,” You yawn, tiredly, sliding the door open for Bakugou. “You find him?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” He admits, brushing past you. “No fuckin’ trace. You sure he was a kid?”

“Positive.”

“And he was covered in scars?”

“Mhm.”

He drops on your couch, tipping his head all the way back with a groan. “I didn’t see any shitty brats. Sorry.”

The apology comes out sharp, a little sarcastic, but his eyes give him away. He is sorry. At least, as much as you can expect from him.

You drop down onto the other side of the couch, tucking your legs up close to your chest. There’s warmth clinging to the cushions, left-over from where you’d been sitting, but you’re still freezing- skin left with a perpetual chill.

Bakugou lets his head loll to the side, rolling against the back of your couch, until he’s looking directly at you. “You alright, leech?”

A part of you wants to lie- but you figure it wouldn’t do much good. He’d just see right through you anyways.

“No.” You say softly, winding your arms around your legs. “Sat here the whole time. Awake. Thinking.”

He looks at you a little strangely then, shifting until he’s sitting straight up.

“Something bad ‘s happening, I think.” Your voice comes out hollow. “With the boy. He’s- I’ve never seen anything like that. He said sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“Mhm. Sorry. To me. And then he grabbed my arm.” You scratch at your arms, trying to keep the itch in your skin away. “I don’t- I think he knew. About my quirk somehow. He touched my skin. Under my sleeve.”

“What?” Bakugou jolts forward, eyes crazed. “Tell me again, from the fuckin’ top. Don’t leave a single goddamn thing out.”

So you recount it, once more, paying extra attention to the way Bakugou reacts to each one of your words. His eyebrows knit together, eyes hardly leaving your face for even a moment. It’s not until you explain the way you’d felt, when the boy had grabbed you, that Bakugou clenches his fist. His knuckles go white as he grits his teeth.

“He fuckin’ knew.” His voice is venomous, steely and serious. “He knew- but that doesn’t- I sat out. Watched- everything. Fuckin’ kid couldn’ta slipped past me. Must’ve come in the same way he got out.”

“You were outside?”

You question is swallowed up as Bakugou stands, gravely voice steamrolling entirely over your own.

“Fucker knew,” He seethes, crossing his arms. “He fuckin’ knew, and he got past me. Gonna- gonna find him. Swear to fuck-“

“He’s a child.” You try to protest, but Bakugou isn’t listening. “Not some crazy super villain and-“

He’s practically worked himself up into a frenzy now, muttering threats under his breath while he paces. You’re not exactly sure why he’s so upset, but he looks at you and suddenly there’s no mistaking the funny little crease in his eyebrows.

Worry.

You can help yourself then, standing and nearing him. Reaching out your hand until your gloved fingers make contact with his forearm.

“He’s just a child.” You say, eyes wide and imploring. “And he said sorry. It’s- I think he didn’t want to. Someone’s making him. So it’s not his fault, alright? He didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.”

Bakugou flicks his eyes down, to where your fingers are resting on his skin. He scrunches his nose up, but he doesn’t shake you off.

“This time.” He says, red eyes staring back into yours, his voice just as serious as before. “This time you’re fine. But it’s not- there’s not gonna be a fuckin’ next time, alright? I won’t- it’s just not gonna fuckin’ happen.”

You think he’s finished, but then Bakugou is flaring his nostrils, and clearing his throat. “‘m gonna find this fuckin’ kid, okay? Swear it.”

“I know.” You say, because you do know. When he looks at you like that, it’s clear there’s never any other possibility. Nothing but the future he carves out for himself. “I know you will.”

Bakugou nods, and after that it takes only seconds until he’s deflating. You’re almost sure you’ve forgotten your gloves then, when his chest settles and the angry red seeps out of him complexion so suddenly. But when you look down, you see nothing but silk where your skin should be.

“You didn’t sleep.” He finally says. “Kid used up some of your quirk, and you’re not fuckin’ tired?”

You look up at him. “No. I- I am. Couldn’t fall asleep though. Freaked out and everything, you know?”

“You’re home now.”

“I know.” You say, finally stepping back and turning away. Wringing your hands together, you settle back into your spot on the couch. “I tried, earlier, to sleep, but I just keep seeing stuff. In the shadows, I mean.”

He looks at you a little weird, hardly for a second, before pursing his lips and shifting his eyes away.

“I know, I know, it’s dumb. Childish, probably.” You backtrack, a nervous, tired laugh leaving your lips. “Couldn’t help it though. Still can’t- actually, I have no idea how I’m gonna sleep tonight.”

He shifts on his feet, obviously uncomfortable. “You scared of the dark now or somethin’?”

It sounds even more ridiculous when he puts it’s like that- when he phrases it as something so minuscule. But it doesn’t feel tiny to you. The fear isn’t manageable at all when you think about retreating to your bedroom, cowering away from all it’s dark corners and crevices.

Well, you reason, tomorrow was a day off for you. Losing out on a night of sleep is probably the least expensive loss you could’ve suffered tonight.

“Maybe I’ll just stay up.” You finally decide, rubbing at your eyes. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna stay up, I think.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be fuckin’ ridiculous. You’re fallin’ asleep right now.”

“I’m not. I’m good.”

You lie and you’re sure Bakugou can see through it. Still, he says nothing, choosing instead to bide his time. But with each passing minute he squints his eyes, knits his eyebrows together a little more with each yawn that you try to suppress. He gives it another few seconds before swearing under his breath, spinning around until you’re only looking at his back.

“J-just sleep there.” He grumbles, pinched and tight while he clenches his fists at his sides. “‘s your fuckin’ house.”

“I can’t,” You yawn, once again trying to hide it behind your hand. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

“I’ll sleep later, ‘s fine. Stop complanin’.”

“I said it’s fine. ‘n besides, I’ll stay up, yeah? Nobody’s gonna fuckin’ get ya.” His voice is a little soft, and you think Bakugou knows it too, because then he’s clearing his throat. Loudly. Making a show of setting his shoulders back until he looks intimidating again. “A-and if you’re not sleepin’ in the next 5 fuckin’ minutes, you don’t gotta worry about anyone anyways because ‘m gonna kill you myself. So go the fuck to sleep already. Leech.”

You can’t help the giggle that leaves your mouth. Nor the second, louder laugh that tumbles from your mouth when he whips his head around at the sound.

“I get it.” You say gently. “I’ll sleep. But please don’t murder me while I’m at it, okay?”

Bakugou smiles something tiny and satisfied, but he covers it up by turning back around. By sinking to the floor a few feet in front of you, crossing his legs beneath him. He keeps his eyes trained forward, palm unturned and clearly ready to explode whatever lurked in the dark.

For lack of better words, he looked like a guard dog. The most blood thirsty one you’d ever seen, maybe, but that still didn’t change the fact that as long as he was around, nobody out to get you was leaving the room unscathed.

It was thought that settled your mind, had your heart slowing down in your chest. Enough to have you easing down into the cushions, stretching out on your couch with a tired sigh.

You try not to think about who is sitting directly in front of you. Try not to think about how you can’t tell if the blanket you’re using smells like him, or if he’s just sitting too close to tell. Try not to think about how easy it’d be to whisper something tiny-a thank you maybe, for everything he’s doing.

But you know he’d hate that. You know he’d pinch his face up, like you’d just burned him, and that knowledge of him only has you warming a little more.

So you pull the blanket up around your shoulders and settle instead for watching the back of his head as you drift off. The way he never stops moving- making sure to look at each and every corner of the room as often as he can.

//-//

oh my god y'all semester's finally over,, i cAN DO THINGS I LIKE AGAIN - pls my blog has been so dead for the last like, month but i swear im bout to revitalize tf out of it babey !!!! ;))))))

taglist: @fluffyviciousbunny @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai @christianagrace9 @the-shota-king-masayuki @shy-panda02 @devastyle @shoto-supremacy00 @shotoful @falloutgirlzz

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou mha #bakugou bnha #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x self insert #bakugou fic #bakugou imagine #bnha fic #mha fic

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kyberphilosopher · 3 years

Text

Amychesis

Word Count: 2898 Requested? No. Note: Should be read as the same reader from “Smile”.

Warnings: Sexual overtones, one particularly blurry but smutty bit, disturbing themes.

“Amychesis” (n.) (AM-i-KEE-sis) – The involuntary act of scratching or clawing your partner in the heat of passion.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

A hiss of pain slips from between your lips like a moan, but the way your body folds in on itself shows the true nature of the noise.

Your moist palm hits the ground, knee soon to follow. As your back curves over into a hunch, the pain begins again- a burning, sharp, sting over and over again. It’s as if you’d been whipped. Lashed. Chained down as you twist up and down in such a way that leaves your back aching. At the time, you’d thought only of how the pain would be worth it. Even how nice that pain felt. Though now you weren’t so sure.

Shit, your brain whispers. How are we supposed to bathe like this?

It doesn’t really matter, another part says. You have to. It’s been too long.

If you start falling into the same habit as your lover, you’ll never know the scent of relative cleanliness again. It’s time to bathe.

But your back. How could you have let him do this to you?

The water ahead of you hurtles from the faucet and down into the tub, splashing around like multiple waves slapping up and down. Churning over each other, making you think of how he’d described the ocean to you. Bouts of steam are emerging, almost so soft you can’t make it out. It’s rare that the water actually gets hot like this. It’s usually lukewarm, but almost never hot. But will this help, or worsen the wounds on your back?

Worsen. You can picture the soap seeping into your skin now. And then there was the way that you would have to twist around to reach those parts.

“Shit,” you hiss again.

Finally, you force your hand from the floor to clasp against the side of the tub. You’ve enough strength to pull yourself up somewhat, but not to a full standing position. There’s a few steps, pitter patters of your bare feet slapping on the wet floor, and then you’re rolling over the side and falling into the steam both with and without grace.

You hadn’t been wrong about your wounds. The stinging sensations intensify like it’s boiling. And though you know it’s for the best and will surely help fight off any chance of infection, you grit your teeth to keep from yelling out a string of curses.

As you reach the bottom of the tub, a soreness sparks through your body. It blooms through your skin from your ass, all the way up to your flaming spine, causing your lips to fall open briefly before being trapped under your teeth sharply.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The pain subsides somewhat, the only after more than thirty seconds at least. Boiling, heated water laps against your skin, the sting of nails washing away slowly but surely. It still hurts but it’s not so bad now, and you wonder if this is something you should bring up to him.

But then what would he say? Would he even say a thing at all? Or would he just stare at you with his still eyes, waiting on you to come around to the truth of it?

“I’m sorry,” he probably wouldn’t say. “But you looked like you were enjoying it.”

A shiver runs over your back despite the steam rising up around you. Your knees come against your chest as the water sloshes, arms wrapping around for a sense of security.

You were enjoying it. Regret now wouldn’t change the fact you knew it was worth it, and the memory on its own was enough to make your thighs vibrate and shake.

God damn it, Eren. You were right. You bastard.

As God’s impeccable timing proves true, the door to the washroom creaks open. You don’t move anything but your orbs, which flash momentarily with the orange glare from the light above. You see his shoes, hear them scuff against the floor a few times before you look back to the water.

Eren’s feet stop in front of the chamber pot. His knees bend until they’re totally in the sitting position in line with a long, wooden bench attached to the wall. There’s a little huff from the wood under his weight, but then the only noise is that of water droplets peeling away from your skin and popping against the surface below.

He’s looking at you- that you know for certain. Your profile, hair, the bend of your spine and the pink and red marks across it. Marks that remain his doing. He hadn’t said anything about it before, but now there seems to be nothing else on you to look at.

You scratched me. He scratched you. You can’t tell if it was on purpose or not, if he even enjoyed it. No- did you even enjoy it? You couldn’t have if you’re feeling this way now. But the way the hot water slips over the raw, thin gashes- the burns, the piercing glow in your ‘lovers’ eyes...

What’s wrong with you?

If you’re looking for comfort, Eren isn’t giving it to you. He’s silent. His eyes are silent, still. They glow in the warm candlelight that floods the room in a dull, emerald sheen. Strings of dark brown hair hang down in thin wisps- over his eyes and shoulders. It’s gotten so long compared to your cadet years. Eren’s changed. At one point, you found him a tad annoying. Now you wonder if you’d rather take annoyance over harmful sex.

You turn your eyes back to the water. Old dirt is peeling from your skin like dust in it, but the shine in the water doesn’t stop for a second.

One hand swishes around under the surface. Little tiny waves churn up and swim around on their own. For the splittest of seconds, you forget about the man in the room with the searing eyes. It doesn’t even feel like there’s anything wrong with your back, or your ass, or the fingerprints you’re just now registering on the soft insides of your thighs. And then you frown, because you remember.

Has Jaeger always been this rough with you? If so, how could you have blocked it out? Is something wrong with you? Or is something wrong with him? What if it’s both? What are both of you capable of?

Isn’t it worse if you liked it?

His fingers were hard. They were nimble and strong, and at first they went for your throat. One hand pushing you down and away by your hip, the other squeezing on either side of your neck. Alright. Standard. So at what point did those sharp, dirty nails start raking your skin up and down?

It was when Eren flipped you around. You crane your neck over your shoulder best you could to get a glimpse of his face. It was handsome, with his dark hair pulled back and his eyes squinting somewhat. For whatever reason, you could’ve sworn you saw the hot breath exit his mouth as if it were the winter.

There was so much going on in the next few seconds, there was no possible way you could’ve felt what he was doing. It wasn’t your fault.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

At first, it was not intentional.

While his pelvis snapped forward and down steeply, his hands wandered down your back. They ghosted along your spine quite a few times- up and down, wondering about all the spinal fluid inside. The thought made Eren go soft for an instant, which sparked embarrassment. The embarrassment sparked anger. His hips snapped harder again to overcompensate- though you hadn’t even realized what for. The only thing your partner heard from you was the choked, sharp breath of a quick pain.

His hand slips. A nail scrapes over your skin on the right of your back.

“Hmph.”

And then it starts. The blood rushes through your veins hotly. Your head feels full, hips feel full- everything feels full. Full, and hot, and angry. Everything inside you feels just like Eren Jaeger.

Wetness slips from between your lips and onto the rough fabric below you. Your shoulder blades are rolling back and forth, right foot twitching with every movement. In your ears, your heartbeat starts to beat through like a drum. It pounds against your chest, every so often lining up exactly with the force pumping in and out of you. Pumping against you.

His eyes widen. There could be more redness than this... this one, singular, narrow line. It’s beading slowly. Those tiny little... tiny little scarlet pearls. He’s seen them a million times before in titans and in people. But now, inside your tight form, he’s never wanted to see it more.

Eren lets both hands grip at your waist, forcing it down even further. You seem satisfied. Your eyes are rolling back without realizing it. You’re pushing against him while losing strength at the same time. Your skin is getting patchy with marks and sweat, and all the little moist spots on the mattress from your spit.

All ten nails drag down on your skin at the same time. Some deeper than others, quicker than others. He does it again with his left hand, higher on your back. Then with his right on the adjacent side. Eren can practically feel the burn from them himself, but you show no signs of pain whatsoever. Has he gone too hard and killed you? No, no. So long as spit is running out of your mouth, you’re alive.

Yes, you realize, staring down into the water. I liked it. I liked him clawing at me.

Your body tenses in realization.

I liked it when Eren hurt me with his hands.

“Does it hurt?”

Your eyes snap over to your partner. He hasn’t moved an inch- shoulders hunched over, thin hairs sprawled flowingly down his neck and collarbones. “The water?”

You turn back towards the murk. You liked it, yes. But something inside you tells you not to forgive him. And then you’re left wondering what there even is to forgive.

“Yes,” you tell him.

Silence.

“I could get an infection.”

That’s a true statement. You can’t reach your hands all the way around your side enough to clean those wounds.

“How would you get an infection from the hot water?”

Oh.

Eren wasn’t talking about your injuries at all. He wasn’t talking about those raspy, pink, red markings up and down your back. Trailing close to your ribs, little purple bruises in the shape of fingers. Yellow and green patches from... something he can’t name.

“I don’t know,” you decide to reply after a minute, so quiet and hoarse it strains your partner’s ear to try and hear. “It hurts.”

You love him, though. You’ve loved him for years. Even when he’d help you back in the kitchen fingering you to the point of choking, you loved him. When he sat with you, told you he’d seen how you’d come to die. But what he accomplished here wasn’t the same as giving you a hickey, or even an unintentional bruise. Eren meant to claw you. He knew how badly this water would sting at your skin after. And what about stretching your back to put on clothes? Sleeping in the position you like? Every little thing is going to make your nerves feel like they’re on fire now.

And all you have to say for it is that you liked it?

You hear a shuffling movement from beside you. You don’t dare look over. Feeling the air shift is enough for you to understand what’s going on.

Your lover leaves the room. The wooden door clicks closed behind him. He comes back in a few minutes.

The floorboards, moist from little specklings of water jumping up when you’d slipped in the tub, creak underneath his weight. It gets louder and louder, heavier and heavier until it stops right beside you.

If you look at him again... will you be sick?

You don’t get sick at all. You hold eye contact with your lover, and you’re relieved. Getting to see him, feel him, knowing he’s been coming all the way out here all for you. Looking into those muted emerald eyes now, in the yellow glow of the candles all around, you know whatever he’s feeling now is genuine, and when was the last time you were able to say that?

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The water stings again against the scratches, the clawings. The soap feels like acid. Again, Eren’s hands are both rough and gentle at the same time. They trail up and down along your spine, over the marks he’d given you, now covered in soap and antibiotics that he smears all over. Occasionally, his right palm presses against your shoulder to hold it in place, meticulously cleaning at the harm he’d given you.

“Ow,” you mutter once, numbly.

“I won’t do this again,” you hear Eren speak from behind you. A ridiculous thing to say, considering the both of you are smart enough to understand that’s not even close to true.

Not only will Eren Jaeger do this- scratch at you during sex- again, he’ll do it faster. Deeper, more intensely. He knows you’ll not only get used to it, but soon you’ll need it. He could see it on your face right before he pushed it down into the dirty fabric on the bed. He could hear it when you’d let out that quiet little hiss of a moan getting into this very bath. Furthermore, he knows that you know.

“Why?” you ask, looking at his distorted reflected through the tiles you face. You see one of his eyes twitch in- what? Anger? Frustration? Pure uninterrupted love?

Eren decides to lie. “I’m going away soon.”

“You’ll be back.”

A stinging sensation spreads along your spine. Nerves in shock, exploding vertically and all at once. It feels hot, and then cold. And finally, within only a few seconds, your mouth still hanging open in unpreparedness, you feel something slow begin to run down your back.

Your lovers thumb creeps near the area. You feel it run over whatevers slipping down your skin like sweat would, then roll in messy circles. Five, six, seven laps so far. Then over to your left side, and all the way back to your right.

“I’ll be back,” Eren says, lowly.

He scratched you. He put his longest nail against your skin and pressed. It dragged right over your spine- not deep enough to do real damage, but enough to leave a scar. At once, blood surfaced like rose petals, racing down for the water. Now he stares at your back all covered in blood that he’s washed all over.

Facing away from him is you, who’s too embarrassed to let him know the action has made you suck your bottom lip in between your teeth. It’s like Eren’s marking you. And then, once it’s completely healed, there’s going to be a scar. You’ll have new skin over an old wound, and it’ll be like you can finally have him as a part of you until you die.

“Stay still.”

He watches the blood disappear in the water, making the red gash look pink and pale. “I love you,” he tells you. And even though it sounds as apathetic as everything else he’s said recently, you know it’s true.

“Love you too,” you whisper hoarsely.

When his fingers leave your skin completely, you twist around and put your hands over the side of the bath to watch him. Though he’s standing and fixing his shirt, Eren’s eyes are already on you, dancing with something you’ve seen before but never named. “You know I love you, don’t you?” you question.

“Yes.”

He takes a roll of gauze medical wraps from his pocket. It unravels in his rough, scarred palms. You watch him watch you, all while beginning to wrap it over his left eye rather calmly.

You look away, coming face to face with the now bloody water. “Do something to your leg too. You can use the crutch in the barn.”

“Thank you.”

When you look back to Eren, of course he’s beat you to it. Looking at you with only one eye which seems to glow dangerously, you’re satisfied to realize he’s gone back to not having a single clue what you’re thinking. Only in your moments of weakness is he able to be omniscient with you.

“I’ll free you,” Eren promises.

Of course you will, you think. All Eren’s ever talked about is freedom. Freeing you, freeing the world. Killing all his enemies over dinner and then sleeping right next to you like it was nothing. But as the dirty, now red water churns over the scratches- old and new-

you realize Eren has no intention of giving you true freedom.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ��*.

I don’t know why, but this is one of the most unsettling things I’ve ever written. But it’s also very sexual? I don’t understand what I’ve created here.

I didn’t proofread anything. Maybe I’ll go back if enough people like it and tweak it.

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pleasantanathema · 3 years

Text

Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: Blinding Pleasures

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of death, violence enemies to lovers, angst, smut, rough sex, hate sex,

Word Count: 6.5k

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

He hadn’t let you go, not completely, fingers still timid and loose against your skin, in your hair. But your palms on his cheeks were so solid, warm, like you were grounding him, fingertips molded against his face with purpose.

Your lips were plump, swollen, parted like they were begging for a bit of mercy from his brutishness.

He needed more. He wanted to pour more apologies into your mouth and have you drink them down like they were sacrament.

Thoughts of you consumed him. He hadn’t even realized it until this moment—every waking thought, every dream, every nightmare, even the flashes when he slipped away into a state of unreality; it all orbited around you. Ever since you fell back into his life again, nothing else had mattered. He’d gone from wishing for your death to dying to feel your breath against him.

“Reiner…” you purred, the desperation from before now bleeding into desire, “I want more .”

“More?” he felt your thumbs at the edge of his smirk, a thrum of confidence building in his chest, “What was it you called me? Pathetic, miserable, deplorable…and now you want more?”

He was grinning, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to hear you acknowledge how your tongue had tried to wound his pride the night he found you behind bars; he wanted to hear you admit to wanting, needing him, despite his wickedness. Or maybe because of it.

“Please.”

Your voice was soft, simple.

The power between the two of you shifted, he could feel it. Your hatred was still simmering in the air, your earlier screams still caught in silent echoes of the room, but he’d shifted the tides when he’d claimed your mouth.

He knew you hated him for countless reasons: his arrogance, his deceit, his bloodied hands, but more than anything you hated him because you wanted him . You craved for him to shatter you and take up residence in your remains, to fill the cracks with his presence, to both destroy and become the mirror you saw in one another.

“Please,” you whispered the word again like it was shameful, and it was.

He pulled your hands away from his face.

“I never thought you’d be one to beg.”

“I’m not—,” you scoffed, an indignant little huff into the air.

“If that’s not what you call begging, then I can’t wait to see what you’re like when you’re desperate.”

His full grin was back, something bubbling inside of him that had gone dormant for years. That happiness he felt back in Paradis, that pride that had once gotten him into so much trouble. It was surfacing again—paler in comparison, but still present nonetheless.

You caught his infectious confidence, something devious flashing in your eyes.

“Then make me desperate,” your tongue was coy, fingers pulling at his shirt. He’d always liked those words: make me . He enjoyed them because they were an easy command. The strength in his hands and his body allowed for him to break anything he wanted. Even if his mind was poisoned, he could still dominate you like he wanted to. He could control you under the weight of his hands.

He stepped back toward his bed, capturing your wrist to have you follow. The mattress was silent under his weight, the springs too accustomed to nights of fitful sleep to complain. You stood between his spread thighs, still clad in Annie’s clothing, still wearing that white armband that had been forced onto you.

“I’ve seen you wear so many things,” his hands were on your hips, pads of his fingers already dipping beneath the worn shirt, tracing patterns onto your stomach, “but this is the worst.”

“Then take it off.”

He had half a mind to make you say please, but he was too eager to finally see you naked.

Slowly, he peeled away your layers, taking his time to brush his knuckles across every fresh piece of hot skin that was revealed. When your breasts fell in front of his face, when the curve of your thighs melted into his hands, he suddenly wished he had claws to scour you, mark you, carve his name into your skin and own you.

He knew you were having the same thoughts, could feel your nails gliding, nicking at his skin as you tore his own threads away. His hands met yours as you both worked to pull his pants down his thighs, his hard-earned muscle making the endeavor slightly difficult.

Then, he was pulling you into his lap, his mouth greedy against your skin. He peppered kisses along your neck, your shoulders, sinking his teeth into the slope of your throat. You were moaning, body settling against his, your too-hot breasts bouncing against his chest, slick pussy pressing against his briefs. He slid a palm up your back, fingers spread wide, eager to twist in your hair again.

“I’ll make you mine,” he mumbled against spit-slick skin, his mouth biting into your neck, sucking until delicate vessels burst and spread into dark colors of his creation.

“I’m not something you can own,” you punctuated your words by knotting your fingers into his hair, mimicking him and tugging at the soft blonde roots, guiding him to patches of virgin flesh still left unmarked by his mouth.

He took special care to kiss and lave over the circular scar on your shoulder. His brain felt like flickering again as he traced over that forgotten memory of yours with his fingers, but you were centering him, your nails were biting into the sinews of his back, pulling him closer, hips rolling in his lap.

“But you’re something I can take.”

“Fuck,” you sounded breathless, head tipping forward so you could scatter wet, open-mouthed kisses along his cheekbones, his temples, his ears. It was like you couldn’t get enough of him. He groaned when he felt your hot tongue dip into the muscle of his shoulder, only to gasp when you bit him more viciously than he had you.

“Easy, princess, you don’t have to hurt me.”

He wrapped his fist in your hair to tug you away, hissing with a mixture of pain and pleasure when your teeth scraped across his skin.

�� “Don’t call me—” his other hand engulfed your breast, thumb rolling and pinching at your nipple, causing your complaint to be caught between your teeth as you hissed, “—I want to hurt you.”

There was an intensity steaming within your eyes as you looked down upon him. You meant those words, and he couldn’t blame you for it. He’d hurt you so many times, the hands on your body were stained with blood and steeped in apologies he owed you.

“I’m always hurting for you.”

He bucked his hips, letting his aching cock slide against the folds of your bare sex through his briefs. His stomach was in knots; he still couldn’t believe this was happening, he was anxious, but lust and pride were making his brain foggy, making his body hurt.

“I…” he kneaded at the soft flesh of your tit in his palm, encouraging some jolts of pleasure to race under your skin as you decided on your words.

“I like it when you’re speechless, princess. ” He put emphasis on the pet name, reminding you that he could call you whatever he fucking wanted when he had you on his lap, in his arms, in his hands.

Ferocity was revving inside you. He knew you didn’t like that moniker, it was something he used to call you years ago. He did it to knock you down a notch, to get under your nerves and pull at the frayed ends because he had an inkling you were just a little princess who liked to be spoiled underneath all your pride.

You were like him; you enjoyed putting up a fight, but in the end, you wanted to be broken.

Your fist wound itself around his throat, your thumb putting pressure on the fragile column of muscle and bone. He could feel his chest tighten as his breath was caught under your hand.

“Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He would’ve laughed if you weren’t bearing down on his neck.

Reiner let you push him onto his back, grunted when you continued to pull the breath from his body when your mouth crushed against his. He felt your thumb pet at a raised scar on the left side of his throat.

“What’s that?” you mumbled it more to yourself, lips moving between your fingers to kiss and suck at the offending piece of flesh.

He was harder than he’d ever been, cock straining toward his stomach because you just had to have your hot little mouth sucking at that spot—

“It’s where you fucking cut me.”

“Oh.”

He took in a deep breath when you released his airway, only to have it pour out in a groan as your tongue traced the familiar scar. It wasn’t long, but it had been deep, enough to leave his skin pink in the wake of healing. Normally the collar of his shirts kept it hidden away; it was small enough to forget, but sometimes he’d touch it just to make his heart hurt.

You’d been in nearly the same position when you’d given it to him. You’d knocked him down, kept him pinned under your fighting body, threatening to slice him open and watch him bleed out before your eyes. But those had been empty words, only cut off when you’d been commanded to retreat from Zeke’s onslaught on Shiganshina. Your blade had still nicked him, however, your wrist purposely digging the tip end into his skin.

He deserved that cut far more than he deserved to feel your plump lips pressing against its scar.

You’d both already branded each other in the past.

Quickly, his hands found your hips, smoothly rolling to where he was on top of you so he could gain more of the control he desired.

Reiner loved how you molded against him, back arched, legs searching for a way to loop around and keep him closer. He loved it because he knew you hated it; your eyes were squeezed shut, lips pressed together like you were trying to muffle sounds, like you were still so full of shame and conflict.

He pressed his fingers to your cheeks, thumb and index fingers settling back into the same spots they held before when you’d been fighting.

“Look at me,” he coaxed, bracing his weight on his elbow so as not to crush your delicate body beneath his.

Your pupils were blown and so, so dark as your lashes lifted toward him. It was the same look you gave him the first time he found you awake in your cell. It sent a shiver racing down his back, spreading up to his neck. Had you wanted him then, too?

Reiner brushed his lips against yours, gentle, reverent, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he was lost in the slant of your mouth, your tongue teasing him, “have you thought about me?”

He was already trailing down your body, taking his time to revisit the swollen spots and dark bruises he already left on your neck and shoulders. Heat hit his cheeks as he realized the marks would be hard for you to hide—people would know what he’d done to you, and he wanted them to. There was no rule that he couldn’t fuck you; he could even say he was just following his orders of making you comfortable enough to spill Paradisian secrets.

“Sometimes,” you admitted, head dipping back against his pillow as you moaned, “I’ve wondered what those big fingers would feel like inside me.”

His hand slid down to your chest, wrapping itself around your breast so he could feel the weight of it within his palm. Then he enveloped it within the warmth of his mouth. Your lips fell open as you whined for him, desperate for more, the sounds racing between his legs.. His tongue swirled around the peaked bud of your nipple, his hand mimicking the actions of his mouth upon your other breast. Your hips pressed up against his firm body, reacting to every little touch or scrape of teeth. He groaned against the sensitive skin; he could feel gooseflesh trickling down your sides. His lips left your nipple, only to be placed on the top curve of your breast. He sucked at the soft flesh roughly, causing you to jump at the sudden influx of pain and pleasure. He growled, biting at your tit, littering it with dark red and purple bruises just like the rest of you.

But he was too impatient, quickly abandoning your beautiful tits to move further down your body. He pressed kisses into your stomach, already imagining how pretty you were going to look stuffed with his cock.

He hooked his arms around your thighs, reveling in how loudly you moaned when he spread your legs even further apart so he could drape them over his shoulders.

“I always knew you’d have the prettiest pussy.”

“Fuck —Reiner, just, shut up and put your mouth to good use.”

He arched an eyebrow as he looked up the expanse of your body to find one of your hands gripping the pillow above your head, the other digging into his sheets like you were holding on for dear life.

He kept his eyes on your face as he dug his fingers into the fat of your thigh, bringing it to his mouth like it was a delicacy to be revered. He took too much delight in watching how your mouth parted as he sunk his teeth into your thigh, just enough to abuse the sensitive skin and make you squirm. He then ran his tongue across the sore flesh, knowing that his spit would cool and cause your skin to prickle. He repeated this a few more times, slowly inching his way toward your alluring, soaked pussy.

“Reiner…”

God his name sounded so good in your mouth.

He didn’t answer you, just dipped his head lower, tongue now tracing a path at the juncture of your hip and thigh.

That hand of yours that was twisted in the sheets suddenly found its way into his hair, your fingers lost in the shaggy locks.

“ Reiner , please, please I want more .”

But you’d already said those words; he’d heard them earlier when you begged for more of his kiss.

“You can do better than that.”

He let your thighs rest against his shoulders, his too-strong hands moving to where his thumbs could spread that pretty pussy of yours apart. He bit back a groan at the sight, practically salivating at the sight of your wet, weeping cunt just begging for him to dip his tongue into you.

You sucked in a very deep breath, “I think about your mouth, your hands, on my pussy all the time, I-I’ve wanted to sit on your face for years, so please, please, do something before I—!”

A low, deep growl left his throat as he licked a long, hot stripe up your quivering cunt. He heard you slap your hand over your mouth, muffling a loud moan.

“Ah, ah,” his arm was long enough to reach the crux of your elbow on the bed, jerking your palm away from your cheeks, “I want to hear everything that comes from the filthy little mouth of yours.”

“But, your neighbors…”

“I thought you didn’t give a fuck about my neighbors? Or do you only want to scream for me when you’re angry?”

He grinned against your folds as your thighs pressed against his cheekbones, your poor skin still so hot from all the hickeys he left behind.

You used the fingers in his hair to tug him forward, but he resisted, instead electing to just repeat the motion of slowly sliding his flattened tongue up the middle of your pussy, your folds hemming around the wet muscle. He could already tell he was going to get addicted to your taste, to the way you kept gasping at his touch.

Quickly, he dove between your thighs, mouth eager and insatiable. He was messy because he wanted you dripping, wanted you needy and whiny and begging and crying for him like he’d always imagined. He kept you spread open with his fingers, tongue assaulting your sensitive clit. He moved the tip of his tongue in tight circles, feeling your lower stomach and thighs clenching and shivering beneath his ministrations.

He relished in the power he had with his mouth between your legs, but at the same time, he was here to repent. He hadn’t forgotten the raw emotions that had poured from your chest earlier.

Reiner mumbled apologies against your pussy, the words lost within the sloppy sounds of his tongue and lips against your wet folds.

He would make you feel lost; make you forget everything if only for a moment.

“You taste so good,” he praised, purring against you before dipping his tongue lower, prodding at your tight hole. Your fingers in his hair turned into a fist, your hips rolling up and encouraging him to plunge into you. Sweat was beading at the nape of his neck, his cock so hard he felt like he was going to burst. He kept his hips pressed to the mattress, trying to keep his mind between your legs instead of on his own body. He needed to prep you first, needed to award you the fingers you’d admitted to thinking about.

Soon, he shifted his mouth upwards again, filling your needy pussy with two of his fingers as his mouth continued to work at your clit.

The most exquisite little moan left your lips, followed by a whispered, “yes, yes, yes, yes,” your gummy walls tightening around his digits as they pumped into you a little recklessly. Initially, he’d wanted to take his time with you, to drag out your pleasure and have you aching for him, but you were already so wet, so willing, mouth open with quick, breathy pants and your pussy clenching and drawing him in closer. You were already so needy, your slick staining the hair on his cheeks and pooling into his mouth.

“You like that?” He curled his fingers inside you, quickly finding that sensitive and spongy spot inside of you that had your eyes rolling back and your hands grasping at your tits for some semblance of stability.

“S-so good, feels so good , just a- ah, a little more.”

He spread his fingers as he curled and pumped them, taking a moment to marvel at how your pussy wrapped around them.

“A little more and what, princess? You’ll cum for me?”

Your head snapped up, blinking like you’d be snapped out of a dream.

“D-don’t call me—”

He silenced you by stuffing his fingers deeper inside of your cunt, thumb taking over for his mouth and drawing heated, sloppy circles around your clit. Your whole body was rocking, hips bucking down against his hand as you sought your release. He felt like he was watching something forbidden; you were not supposed to have his name on your breath, you shouldn’t be naked, writhing in his sheets, squeezing at your divine tits while you prepared and shuddered as your orgasm prepared to release from his hands.

But there you were, a blessed sight before him, his apologies and his fingers stuffed inside of your pussy.

Your thighs clenched closer than before, your whole body tightening. He kept his face close to your sex, admiring how you well you took in the onslaught of his greedy fingers.

“Fu-uck,” he heard you rasp, your body stilling. He ceased his motions, cupping his mouth around your pulsing pussy so he could lap up what leaked from inside of you. You looked beautiful, spent, like you’d been swept out to sea but floated home to safety.

Next time you came for him, he was going to make sure his name was on your tongue.

━━━─── • ───━━━

You watched with watery eyes as Reiner sat up between your thighs, bringing his dripping fingers to his mouth. He dragged the digits along his tongue, cleaning them with a cocky grin tugging at his cheeks.

Your chest felt so heavy after your orgasm; it had torn through you like an arrow pierces flesh, hot and fast and pointed, like you were ripping apart in ecstasy. And all because of him, because of Reiner Braun. Not that long ago you were desperate to wrap your fists around his neck and kill him, and now you were just desperate to feel him take you, to use your body and make you feel that blinding pleasure all over again.

That urge to hurt him was still present, still lingering underneath your composure, but it was being battled by your lust and the years you’d spent wanting to fuck him. You’d never allowed yourself to when you were both back home; Reiner always seemed like trouble, especially to you. You were worried if you opened your legs for him, he’d worm his way into your heart, into all your hurt.

But everything was different now—you didn’t know if you would ever see home again, but this man whom the gods and whatever celestial beings existed kept tying and binding you to was here, and he wanted you, and you were so ready to let him have you, hold you, break you.

You felt your mouth open as you watched him finally rid himself of his boxer briefs.

His cock was thick and long, curving ever so slightly up towards his stomach. A few veins were throbbing up his length, plump and enticing. His cock even looked big in comparison to his mighty palm, the red, swollen head leaking out over his thumb. He had the kind of cock you thought only existed in porn, so fucking thick that you wonder if coke-can cock would even be an apprioprate descriptor.

“Oh my god, if you had fucking told me you have such a fat cock…” you trailed off, feeling saliva pool under your tongue. God you wanted him in your mouth.

“Impressed?”

“Very.”

“Then beg for it.”

You couldn’t believe it, but you loved seeing that ego of his come back to life. You loved seeing confidence brewing behind his honey eyes again, loved seeing him proudly wrap his hand around his cock and pump it for you.

“Haven’t I done enough begging, Reiner?”

“You’ll beg as much as I want you to.”

He held a playful smile on his face as he spread your legs again, this time keeping them around his waist as he settled back on top of your body. He wrapped his fists around your wrists that were lying by your face, keeping you pinned below him. Your pussy was still singing from your orgasm, but a new string of pleasure was coursing down your spine at his words.

“Pretty please,” you moaned into his ear, “please fuck me, you’re all I want.”

And you meant those words too; the world could start ending and the only thing on your mind would be how good his weight felt between your hips.

His cockhead brushed against your slippery folds, your body shivering as he made contact with your swollen clit before pressing gently against your tight entrance.

He was bigger than— no , you didn’t need to be thinking about anyone else. Just him.

“Please fuck me, fuck me hard. Fuck me so I forget what you’ve done.”

He released your wrists, his hands molding to your hips, pushing you down.

You could feel his groan rumble up your own chest from where your bodies were pressed together. Your hands were gripping at his back, nail already sinking into the rolling muscle of his shoulders. He felt heavy, solid. He smelled familiar, like nostalgia was bubbling at the surface of his skin, enveloping your senses as you took in a deep breath. He felt like home.

White-hot heat spread over every nerve ending as he pushed himself inside of you. He was rough, quick, hips snapping so he could plunge into your depths in one swift motion. You were wet enough to accept him, but still you burned from the intense stretch. You whined his name as you felt yourself slipping away into that headspace of sex.

He kept himself sheathed deep inside of you for a moment, letting you feel the thickness of his cock, the heaviness of his thighs against yours. He was panting into the curve of your collarbone, like he was steadying himself, or perhaps he was preparing.

“Move,” you demanded, trying to roll your hips that were pinned under his might.

You both moaned and hissed as he followed your order, drawing himself in and out of your compliant pussy. The thick veins of his cock dragged against your walls as he moved, making your lashes flutter from the sizzling pleasure of it all. He’d barely started and you were already falling into a delirium. It was like the first taste of an addiction; heavy, sweet, all encompassing, like his cock between your legs was all you ever needed.

He set a slow pace, a purposeful one, each thrust causing primal sounds to erupt from your throat. All worries were gone —you couldn’t think about his past, your future, if anyone was looking for you, if you were in danger. All that mattered was him, was this moment.

Soon his tempo changed. He sped up, hands still locked around your hips, fingers mean and bruising. Every mark he’d left on your body suddenly began to sing with the ecstasy of him pounding away inside of you. Your nails were helpless, scratching lines you knew would bleed red down his back.

“How does it feel?” He whispered your name against your neck; you could feel him smirk against your skin.

“S-so good,” your breaths were quick, hot, “so full .”

You whined when he pulled his body away from you, seamlessly settling on his knees so he could look down at you as his cock pumped away inside your clenching cunt.

“Yeah? Like being stuffed full of my cock?”

You merely nodded your head, lips pressing together as your hands fisted the pillow next to your head. All your shame was gone, instead filled with delight as you watched how his eyes raked over your bouncing body, over all the damage he’d done to it for the sake of claiming you.

Those shining, golden orbs of his landed on where your bodies were conjoined. It was like a fire was lit behind them as he marveled at your tight pussy sucking him in, perfect flesh wrapped around him, cream pooling at the base of his cock showing how much your body wanted him.

“I hate you...so much,” he whispered it into the heat of the air, his confession encouraging him to grip tighter, push harder. You felt the change in the atmosphere, like something darker was brewing between you.

You were tempted to spit the hatred back at him, but any words you were thinking of were lost when he flipped you over far too-easily.

It was a shock, to suddenly have your face smashed into his pillow, his leftover scent invading your nose. And it was wicked to feel him maneuver you like a little rag doll, heavy paws gripping at your waist and pulling your ass up to meet him.

He shoved his cock into you wickedly, roughly big hands holding your ass and pulling you back against him as he began a ruthless pace. It felt like a punishment. You screwed your eyes shut, a cry erupting from your throat at his brutality. Your fingers fisted into the sheets, your back arching from his force. Your world narrowed; all you could focus on was Reiner inside of you, using your pussy like it truly belonged to him, like he had a right to treat you however he wanted.

You felt a sick, twisted satisfaction of feeling him come alive behind you. You did this to him, made him go nearly feral and lose control. Or maybe it was the opposite. With you, he could have all the control he wanted, needed. Your body reacted to every touch, every suck, every plunge of his hips. You moaned, whined, bucked, shivered, like an instrument being played by vicious hands.

His heavy balls were slapping against your clit, making your body twitch with little shocks of bliss with every movement. You could feel every splayed finger upon your ass and hips, each one digging and pressing into you, pulling you in closer, deeper upon his cock.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” his curses kissed your ears.

You didn’t have the mind to speak, his depraved pace had you drooling against the sheets. Little gasps and groans of pleasure were the only things able to escape your mouth.

He was like an elemental force taking over you, and you wanted him to. You wanted to fall prey to him, wanted to get lost in the gravitational well that was Reiner Braun.

One of his hands began to glide up your back, fisting in your hair and jerking you back. A small scream fell from your lips as your head was pulled from the pillow, pain blooming from your scalp. It changed the angle, had his cock hitting a new, softer spot inside you that had your vision blurring.

Your hands were barely able to keep their grip on his sheets, making your thighs slip back against his.

“I like watching you struggle,” he purred, yanking his hold on your hair. You whimpered in response, starting to become overwhelmed by the pain and the pleasure. Your body was aching, from lust and discomfort, from ecstasy and weakness. You knew you were entirely in his hands. He could drop you, he could stop giving you the bliss that was burning between your legs and around his cock. But he kept pumping inside of you, deep groans spilling over your naked back and soaking into your skin.

H e pulled you up higher, leaning forward to capture your shoulder between his teeth. You could feel his massive body rocking against yours, over, and over, and over again, a sinful rhythm. His cock ramming so deep inside of you that you felt it deep within your throat. His hand on your hip slid to the front of your body, fingertips circling over your clit and making you cry. Tears were pricking your lashes —you were full of emotions you couldn’t name, full of him.

“Reiner, fuck, oh god,” one of your hands flew to your breast, the other landing on the merciless fingers that toyed with your pussy. It was a weak effort to keep him there, to have some semblance of control.

“You’re getting tighter,” he grunted, hand leaving your hair so he could wrap it around your belly, brawny arm caging you against his solid body, “gonna cum?”

Your head leaned back against his shoulder, salty, burning tears now streaming down your cheeks.

Your cunt was throbbing with every wicked plunge of his cock. He was reckless, fucking you like an animal, like man both in and out of control.

“Please, please, please, please,” you were back to begging, so close to release that it was almost painful.

“Please what, princess?”

“Please, let me cum.”

Let me , like he had dominion over your pleasure. And he did, you knew he did.

He kept his fingers on your clit, ruthlessly swirling through the wetness, keeping you close and shaking around his cock. Your stomach muscles were tightening, fresh heat creeping over your skin. It was like each thrust was taking you up a ladder to heavenly pleasure, each one sending you higher, but making you fall harder at the same time.

“Cum for me,” it was a hushed command, pressed into your neck, “say my name when you do.”

Your mouth opened, pretty, pained sounds falling down onto your bodies. He somehow pulled you closer, cinching your back against his chest with that heavy arm beneath your breasts.

You were too hot, you were losing yourself, lost to the indurate thumping of him inside your pussy.

“Gonna... fuck , I’m…” your head hung low, waves of pure bliss already creeping up on you, “ Rei-ner! ”

You weren’t sure if it was the sound of his name or the sucking of your cunt that sent him over the edge with you. Hot, thick ropes of cum coated your insides as you completely fell apart. Your orgasm was more intense than before, lasting longer, like the thick stretch of his cock kept you open for more ecstasy to keep rolling over your body. You were screaming silently.

Though his body was still, he was solid and kept you in place as you both rode out the intensities that your bodies were craving. Your hands clung to his forearm, head now so heavy you could barely think.

But soon the cloud of lust was lifted, your forms crumpling into the mess of sheets below you. Reiner landed on his back, chest heaving with breaths. You were still on your knees, palms spread onto the bed as you tried to regain your senses. You could feel his cum sliding down your thighs, sticky and slow.

You were used, spent. But suddenly the weight of the world was back on your shoulders.

You glanced over to him, straightening your back and sitting up. He looked as wasted as you were, drunk but coming back to life, face flushed with those glorious arms of his above his head.

Reiner brought one of his arms down, hand upturned and offered before you on the bed. He looked like some muted, tired god within his sheets, looked like he was giving you an offering.

What waited for you within his hands after this?

Peace? Forgiveness? Or was it judgement? Pain?

“You okay?”

You nodded solemnly, taking his outstretched hand and bringing it up to your face. He cupped your cheek, thumb wiping away the remnants of tears that he wasn’t quite sure why you shed.

“What now?”

It was one of those loaded questions, you knew that. It held too much meaning for him to answer. What would come of the two of you now? What feelings were brewing after this? Where did you go from here, physically and mentally?

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. His eyes were trailing over the carnage he’d brought upon your body; years of pent of anger painted all over your skin.

You pulled away from him, even though the hormones in your body, your emotions , were begging for you to curl up next to him and be coddled.

You turned your back, sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers plucking at the sweaty sheets. You gazed out the window, found the moon trying to show her face behind snow clouds. The same moon you gazed at from your home, now presenting herself to you in a new, foreign place. Kind of like the man behind you, who offered you pieces of himself to fill your voids.

The bed moved as he did, an open palm finding your back, running down your spine. He stayed behind you, kissing at your ruined shoulders with the mouth that had hurt them.

“I’m tired,” you admitted, feeling little bits of heaviness pulling from your chest, “tired of everything .”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m tired of just surviving. Here, home, it’s always just steps to live another day, to not get caught up in wars that aren’t of our making.”

He hummed knowingly.

“We could run away.”

That was a thought you’d had before. But running gets tiresome too, you supposed. This time you might not have to think about doing it on your own. You’d collided with him again, the fates had tied you together once more. Perhaps it was to start a new trajectory.

“We could,” you smiled then, a little flame of hope, of happiness, licking its way into your still hazy mind.

You turned around to catch him in an unsuspecting kiss. Your grin was still present and infectious, making him laugh as you pressed your mouth eagerly to his.

“I don’t know if we like each other enough to run away together, you know.”

You pushed him back into the mattress, leaning over him to plant little, messy kisses upon his cheeks.

“True,” he chuckled, moving your hair out of your face to give you a proper kiss before settling back into his pillows, “we’ll have to learn how to treat each other better.”

You took a moment to look at him. He looked so much the same as when you were younger, his beautiful smile crinkling the edges of honey eyes. But there was more etched within his features, more prominent cheekbones begging to be touched and kissed, a softness lingering within his lips.

“We’ll find a way to make gardens out of the graves we’ve made.”

━━━─── • ───━━━

You didn’t move again until he was fast asleep, the barest hint of a snore escaping his nose.

There was a growing soreness in your limbs as you silently removed yourself from the bed, feet cold against the floor. Your whole body ached, those bruises and hickeys stinging as you carefully moved the strewn desk chair back in front of his computers.

God he was a fucking animal , but you couldn’t complain. You’d wanted it far too much. You rubbed at the painful heat in your naked shoulders as you turned on the monitor that had gone dormant. Blue light filled the small space, making you glance over your shoulder to make sure he was still sleeping. His chest was still rising and falling peacefully, the light illuminating his hulking figure in the bed sheets.

Your mind was so heavy, having carried the memory of his password up until this moment. You’d been sure to watch him type it in earlier, just in case. Though, it wasn’t that hard to remember—it was the name of his first dog that he’d talked about while on his mission in Paradis, and of course Bertholdt’s birthday. You typed it in quickly, Honey1230 , and sighed with relief as his desktop flashed to life.

You knew this was a risk. But it was one you had to take.

You knew the email by heart. It was the one that always sent you photos and love notes, a non-government one that you knew would still be checked.

You didn’t take long, just typed out the words that had been playing in the back of your mind when the world went silent; when you weren’t wrapped up in the mess that you’d created with Reiner.

It took an awkwardly long moment to send, all the files you’d attached to it slowing it down. You sat there naked, dripping, a mess, heart pounding like you were worried sirens would start blaring at any moment.

After the email blinked away from the sent box, you deleted it, watching the name it was addressed to disappear.

Next Chapter

#reiner smut #reiner x reader #reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner x you #reiner braun x you #reiner fanfic #snk #snk fanfic #snk reiner #aot #aot reiner #attack on titan fanfiction

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laequiem · 3 years

Text

Small Claims

/ Lorcan finally tells Elide that he thinks she’s his mate. Claiming follows. Fluff & Smut.

Fandom: Throne of Glass

Characters: LORD LORCAN LOCHAN / Elide Lochan

Rating: Explicit bay-beeeeeee

TW: a lil bit of blood

Lorcan Salvaterre didn't think he had any "firsts" left. Most of them had come to pass centuries ago. First fistfight when he could still count his age on his fingers. First real battle a few years later. First kill in his late teens. Those he remembered clearly. First kiss, first time getting drunk, first fuck—blurry meaningless memories he did not care to untangle.

Listen, my power went out when I sat down to finish this last week, so I decided that it’s cursed and that it needs to get out of my WIPs. So if it’s bad, please send your complaints to Hydro. Thanks.

read on ao3 • masterlist

In the last few months, he was surprised to experience new "firsts" with this force of nature he now shared his life with. Elide was the first person he cared about, the first person he loved. His first time having sex and feeling something more than pure lust.

And now, Elide Lochan was the first partner he ever had the urge to claim. Lorcan had bitten plenty of females before, but never broke skin. It was a part of his fae heritage that had never surfaced until he started traveling with her. He felt it first when they traveled with the circus and men kept hovering around her tent, trying to gage if they could bed the innocent fortune teller. He pushed the urge down, down into himself, refusing to acknowledge any feeling for her. He kept the urge at bay for long, even making fun of Whitethorn when he noticed the mark he had left on his Queen. But when Elide gave him everything, the need to claim her had flooded Lorcan's senses. It was not the time, though. Not when she was so insecure.

Since then, Elide has grown confident with her sexuality, initiating things even more often than he does. Still, Lorcan has not claimed her. He could not figure out how to ask her.

His primal instincts are always stronger on mornings like this. When he wakes up and she sleeps peacefully next to him, hair swept away, exposing her throat to him.

"Lorcan?" she asks softly, tentatively, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Elide's voice is not as sleepy as he thought it would be. It sounds as if she has been awake for a while. She shifts to face him, hands coming up to rest on his chest.

"Can humans have a mate?"

Lorcan trails one of his hands up Elide's arm and inclines his head, a silent cue for her to continue.

"I dreamt of Aelin and her mate and I… I was wondering why you didn't have one." Her tone is so sad, Lorcan feels his heart twist. "If it is because you're demi-fae."

He lifts a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking over her cheekbone.

"Not everyone has a mate, Elide. They're rare," she lets a little oh and he continues, "I used to think I couldn't have one. Not because of my human blood, but because of… Who I am. What I did."

"Used to?"

For so long, Lorcan had convinced himself that he didn't even have a heart left. That his power, like it does to his enemies, had rotted his insides to the point of rendering him heartless. Living only to inflict pain and slaughter. Then, he met Elide and his rotten heart had made itself known. Twisting and pulling, accelerating and stopping, until he had to admit to himself that he cared for her. At first, it was an inconvenience, a distraction from his mission and the Queen he thought he loved. When he betrayed Elide and sold Aelin to said-Queen, Lorcan could hardly live with himself knowing she hated him, that he had ruined what they had. Whatever that was.

And now?

"I don't… think that anymore."

"So why then?"

"Why what?"

"Why don't you have a mate?"

Lorcan removes his hands from her and rolls over on his back. He stares at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to say, how to say it. Words have never been his forte. Elide is so good with words, but it seems the talent is not contagious. She inches closer to rest against his side, head on his shoulder. Can she hear his heart thundering in his chest? Can she read the fear on his face?

He inhales deeply, then exhales slowly.

"I think you're my mate."

There it is, the secret he has been holding for months now. He feels her still against his side and all his repressed worries to come flooding in.

She doesn't want to be your mate.

Who would even want that?

You don't deserve her.

You don't deserve anything.

You've killed so much.

You've brought on so much suffering.

It would be unfair for you to have a mate.

All she does, however, is ask, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't… I don't know how any of this is supposed to feel.” He rubs at his face with one broad hand. “I've never loved before, I don't know the difference."

Elide's fingers start tracing the outline of his pecs, toying with the dark hair there.

"Neither do I. We're learning together."

Lorcan lets out a breath of relief. She isn't mad at him. She doesn't laugh at him.

"It doesn't have to… change anything," he says tentatively, "I don't want to force this on you."

Elide shifts and leans on her elbow, staring at him with those devastating dark eyes.

"Lorcan, you never forced me into anything. I'm… honored."

He scoffs. As if. He already struggles everyday to remind himself that she does, in fact, love him. Thinking she would see being his mate as an honor was far beyond what he could imagine. She flicks his nose. He is not worthy of her and they both know it, the whole court—

"I'm serious," Elide chastises, "I wouldn't want anybody else."

Elide leans towards her husband and presses her lips to his.

"Who wouldn't want Lorcan Salvaterre, second in command to Queen Maeve as a mate?" she teases, her hand trailing lower on his chest, "A strong fae male to scare my enemies."

"You're the only female fearless enough to want me," he replies, as serious as ever.

Lorcan shivers as her fingers slipped past the waistband of his underwear.

"Why would I be afraid," she croons, palming his semi-hard cock firmly, "when I have you wrapped around my finger?"

Lorcan snaps and rolls to be on top of her. This kind of talk always got to him. Of course, his wife's body is beautiful and perfect, but it's that cunning mind and sharp tongue that really made him lose his mind.

He nips at Elide’s lower lip and her lips part for him, allowing him a taste. She always tastes so sweet—strawberries and cinnamon, more addictive than any sugary treat.

Lorcan groans as he witnesses her wide eyes, darkened by lust and need. He lowers his mouth to her neck, kissing and sucking the soft flesh. Her pulse rushes under her skin and his canines are aching to pierce and claim and—

He moves down to her chest before the feral thing inside him can fully surface. He focuses this energy on her breasts, knowing she likes him leaving marks for nobody but them to see. He palms one of her heavy breasts with one hand while the other seeks out her sex. Before he reaches his destination, however, she grabs his wrist and pulls him up to look at her.

"You're holding back," she simply says, "why?"

He must look absolutely savage right now—wild eyes, panting heavily, shaking slightly with restraint—for her to even bring it up.

"I want to claim you," he replies roughly.

Elide lets go of his wrist and for a second, Lorcan fears he drove her away. She understood that he doesn't deserve her and she doesn't want a life shackled to him and—

Her hand moves up to his nape and she lightly tugs on his hair.

"I want everything you can give me."

Her other hand reaches between them and grasps him again, angling his length to line up with her.

Lorcan's breath hitches, "are you—"

"Yes. I want everyone to know you're mine."

Everyone knows, of course. He does not preside over meetings with her, but everybody notices the armored warrior standing in the doorway, a constant threat of violence etched on his face. The Lady's brute, he had heard some whisper. They're right. Her uncle had called him a brute as well. No amount of gentle kisses and magical braces would erase the centuries of pain he has caused.

Sensing her lover's hesitation, Elide bends forward to whisper in his pointed ear, "claim me."

Lorcan unleashes himself with a feral groan, any semblance of control he once had shattering to give way to the beastial fae half of him. He drives his cock into her heat in a powerful stroke, eliciting a surprised gasp and a giggle from Elide.

With all his previous partners, Lorcan kept the kissing to the absolute minimum. But Elide's moans were a siren song to his ears, and he wanted nothing more than to drink them all up until he drowned. He claims her lips in a hungry kiss, so raw and unchained that their teeth clinked together.

Even with his lips on hers, his cock in her and a hand grasping her breast, he still needs more, more to touch, more to taste. By the way her hands roam his chest and claw at his back, his wife feels the same.

While he ruts into her, Lorcan reaches between them to toy with her clit, wanting—needing to feel her shatter on his cock.

She's mine, she's mine, she's mine. The words echo in his head with each slap of his hips against hers.

I have a mate.

Clap.

A mate.

Clap.

A mate.

As if she could read his mind, Elide echoes his thoughts in-between two short breaths, "my mate."

A shock passes through their bodies, heightening every sensation. The bond snapping into place, he supposes. It's overwhelming, better than any story Lorcan has ever heard. He feels her emotions, her love for him, as strongly as if they were his. He knows now more than ever that he wants to spend his whole life with Elide Lochan. That, no matter how short their time together would be, he could never live without her.

Lorcan hooks one of Elide's legs around his elbow while his other hand quickens its ministrations on her clitoris. The next thrust is deeper, angled just right, and Elide comes with a scream that will surely wake up the maids. He coaxes her through the waves of her orgasm, his eyes never leaving her flushed face. Beautiful.

As he feels his own release approaching, Lorcan leans towards her and drags his teeth down Elide's neck, inhaling her scent deeply. Just before erupting, he bites down, canines piercing the soft skin effortlessly.

My mate, my mate.

Lorcan spills in her. Once. Twice. By the end of his climax, he is shaking all over. He finally pulls away from her neck, licking his lips, then running his tongue over the mark. He stares at it for a moment, admiring as droplets of blood start beading out again. Will she want to keep the scar, like Aelin did? The memory of it will live in his mind forever either way, just like their scent will always be intertwined now. The possessiveness is not a part of himself he is used to, and he feels quite ashamed of the primal nature of it all, but faeries are territorial creatures.

Elide trails a finger up his throat and he leans into her touch.

"Am I supposed to… do it too?"

"Only if you want to," he says, brushing a strand away from her sweaty forehead.

She hums softly, considering. "Your throat does look bare without a scar."

"Do I not have enough scar for you, Milady?"

She laughs and Lorcan wonders if he will ever get used to the sound and how it makes his heart skip a beat.

"I like your scars."

Elide pushes on his chest and Lorcan pulls himself out and twists to lay on his side next to her. She turns to face him and starts tracing a scar that spans the length of his biceps.

"Do you want one?"

"More than anything."

#Throne of Glass #Elorcan #Elide Lochan #Lorcan Salvaterre #lord lorcan lochan #Kingdom of Ash #Empire of Storms #Smut #fanfiction #fluff and smut #fluff #Queen of Shadows #sjmaas #Sarah J Maas #Maas #faerie smut #ToG #KoA #EoS

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sevi007 · 3 years

Note

Baltheir must've seen Fran go ballistic like that once, knows that Mist can have a pretty strong effect on Veira, so this is probably isn't much of a surprise for him now. But consider, first time he saw her like that, wide eyed and feral, he's trying to calm her down cause she looks like she's scared or in pain, hugging her close until she calms down not caring about the wounds she's causing. When she comes to Fran tries to apologize but Baltheir wouldn't have any of it. 1/2

once he's done dressing his wounds, and hers, they have a long conversation about how Mist can effect a Veira so they can be better prepared next time. And Fran apologizes once more for that "ugly display" and Baltheir scoffs, "Fran, dear, you're a lot of things, but ugly? Never." She stares at him in shock for a moment before she smiles. and then, "if anything, you were even more beautiful, now that I have a chance to look back on it, you're very pretty when you're mad" she pinches him. 2/2

@rex101111 is absolutely my greatest enabler, and nobody should be surprised anymore when I take one of the prompts he gives me and just write an entire One-Shot out of it. Like I did here. In a rush.

(It is not quite what you had in mind, Rex, but I really had only so much influence over where this story went. I think the FFXII characters just possessed me halfway through and wrote this themselves. I hope you still like it as much as I liked writing it!)

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ XII ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fran knows it was a mistake, following Balthier’s lead. It does not matter what treasures awaited them, or how sure of their success he was; the moment he had told her their next trip would take them to the fallen city of Nabudis, she should have turned heel and walked out on him.

And yet, here she is; breathing in mist rather than air, feeling it claw at her throat and her mind, while she follows the hume man through this laid-bare bones of what was once a glorious city. Because it is Balthier who asked, and Balthier who lead the way. And Fran always, always followed his lead, ever since they had met each other. This, she knows, is a weakness.

She should have known better, than to let herself be weak. The forest taught her that. Life taught her that. Weakness means death.

The thought thrums through her, clear like a bell. It is the last clear thought she has before the burning of the mist ignites inside her, explodes in an inferno, and her head feels like it is being split in two. She thinks she screams, but she cannot be sure; the next thing she knows she is on her knees, doubling over onto all fours, and she is burning alive as the mist rages through her, her world tinging red.

With blurry eyes she watches her fingers curl together and her nails elongate, and tries to choke out a warning, but it never comes. Her head tips back and she catches a glimpse of Balthier, whirling around towards her with his eyes wide, before she opens her mouth and screams.

It is every nightmare she ever had, combined. She has feared such a moment for several reasons, and only one of them being what will he think of me, seeing me so unhinged?

The other, much more potent fear, was for his fragile hume life.

She is Viera; hers is the strength of nature, of the very forest which gave birth to her. With the mist clouding her mind, there is nothing to reign in that strength. She is a storm, an earthquake, a beast let loose. Her nails are claws slashing, her limbs like whips clashing, and her power enough to shatter stone and steel, so, so easily crush bones into dust.

And Balthier, the brave fool, takes one look at her twisted features, at her trembling body ready to pounce and rip him to shreds, and does exactly what she feared he would do: He runs towards her instead of away from her.

Fran wants to scream at him stop, you foolish boy, stop, but all which comes forth is another heart stopping howl and then Balthier is already crushing into her at full speed.

Instinct moves her; her body bucks and rears and tries to throw him off while she snarls and hisses at him. His arms come around her and he holds on with all his might. To her, it might as well be paper stripes trying to hold her back.

Not that he is trying to hold her down. It is from far away that the tiny part of Fran which is still her, which can still think, notices this. He is not holding onto her arms, trying to contain her. He simply cradles her protectively wit no care for his own wellbeing. As if her claws are not at present tearing into his shoulders, cutting through cloth and skin alike. And he is talking; a low, gentle murmur which should have gotten lost in her own thunderous roars but somehow rings louder still in her ears.

“… this why you did not want to come here? Forgive me, Fran. I should have listened to you.”

Perhaps it is the proximity to him. Perhaps the surprise of him being the one apologizing filters through. Whatever it is, her mind clears, if only a little, even while her body is still wildly out of her control. The rush of blood in her ears takes second place to the horrible sound of cloth tearing, skin ripping, and her own monstrous roars.

And over it all, Balthier’s voice, right there. “I will listen better from now on, I promise on the Strahl I will. You won’t have to endure this ever again.”

The hand which finds her cheek, thumb stroking infinitely gentle and too close to her sharp teeth, is a glaring contrast to her own vicious movements. Even in her rage, her body stiffens in surprise at the perplexing kindness of the gesture.

“You have every right to be angry with me, Fran. But right now, I need you to come back, you hear me?” The arms around her tighten as if trying to hold her together. “I know you are still in there, Fran. I know you can come back. Come back, please.”

Please.

It is that little word, the tremor of it, which stills her completely then. Fran is still breathing heavily, nostrils flaring, a mutinous growl rumbling in her chest. Yet she is no longer lashing out against the hume in her arms, her claws lying uselessly against his torn shoulders.

There is two equally strong urges fighting inside her - to destroy, and to protect.

Hurts. Pain. Lash out, her body burning under the mist thrums. The warm body pressed against hers is a nuisance. A danger, in her state. An enemy. Rip. Tear. Crush.

No. No. This is not an enemy. Fran clings to the blurry thought, as viciously as her inner beast, refuses to let it go again. This is no stranger. This is not any hume. This is the boy turned man who had taken one look at her and decided to reach out and give her a place to stay. This is her friend and partner who always has her back, no questions asked. This is Balthier.

Her Balthier. Who would hold onto the beast she had become to comfort it rather than cut it down in self-defense.

He has seen me, and he has not ran from me.

I will nothurt him.

She howls once more, but this time there is another sound wrenched in between; a sob. A mixture of fear and relief. It is like a rain drop onto a wildfire, but it is a start. It repeats itself, again and again. Her hands loosen, relax into something more natural once more. She drops in Balthier’s arms, slumps over like a puppet with its strings cut loose. She does not even notice when the world tilts around her and her back meets the ground.

The last thing she sees is Balthier’s face above her, pale and horribly young, mouth moving silently; or can she simply not hear him? His eyes look red, she thinks and moves to reach out and do something about it – but her body feels far, far away. Her arm simply will not do as she wants.

She cannot even worry about it before darkness takes over her senses and she knows nothing anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ XII ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I am quite sure a potion would have done the trick just as well-…”

“Be quiet, Balthier.”

He tries, for her sake. Even from behind, Fran can see him try valiantly to bite back the words, jaw working, before he does finish just like she expected, “You should save your energy.”

They have been going back and forth on this for a while now, so Fran decides it is best to let it be and simply do her work. In the silence, she focuses on drawing the tiniest bit of mist from the air and spin it into the most potent Cure she is capable of at present.

Fran understands his worries, she does. After all, she had needed to be carried back all the way to the Strahl after her breakdown and even then it had taken several hours before she had come back to consciousness once more. She knows he caresand that that is why they had nearly started wrestling with each other when she had tried to get up at first, and once more when she had started to tear at his shirt to try and assess the damage shehad done to him while he protested and tried to wave it off as nothing.

Fran knows all that. But as is usual with them, Balthieralso understand that she needs to do this without needing to hear it, and so he lets her, despite his grumbled protests and all his eye-rolls. It is for her peace of mind that she spins the magic and pours it into his body. Each bit of skin which knots back together and smooths out is a tiny piece of her own heart healed, a weight lifted of her shoulders as she watches her sins be wiped away slowly.

Once she is done, her hand hover uselessly over Balthier’s back for a moment, torn between reaching out and touching the skin there. As if to make sure it really is healed and hides no further injuries.

Injuries I caused.

“All done?” Balthier’s voice startles her. Humming in answer, she watches when he pushes to his feet and stretches his arms over his head with a relieved sigh. “Ah yes, so much better. Remind me to ask you for white magick lessons again. We save a fortune on potions that way.”

“I will.” Her gaze follows him while he moves about, checking the range of his motions, shooting her a distracted smile as he does. She means it; it will do him good to know healing magic himself, should she not be around… or lose herself once more.

“Thank you. Now. How does it look?”

At the prompt, Fran instinctively finds her gaze rack one more time over his bare skin, counting blemishes which are not there anymore. A few shadows remain; places where a Curaga would have done more than a mere Cure. But those were mere bruises, and a lot less than pains Balthier was more than used to.

Still the knowledge of the source of these shades sits as a knot in her belly, and she clenches her traitorous fists tightly.

A throat being cleared snaps her out of it. When her gaze meets Balthier’s, his eyes are dancing with laughter. “My dear, you are welcome to look all you want of course, but I was talking about my shirt.”

Despite herself, Fran feels her eyes crinkle with her own smile. Somehow he had always had the ability to make her smile once more, no matter what. With only a little derisive snort at his peacocking – he never grew out of that one, did he – she holds up the stripes held together by mere thread, lets the remains of the shirt dangle from her fingers. “Beyond all rescue.”

Balthier pulls a disgruntled face as if, somehow, this is the worst thing that has happened to him all day, and sighs deeply and dramatically. “A shame. That was my best one.”

The knot in her belly tightens once more, but before it can get too much, Balthier already keeps talking with a flourish of his hand. “Well. Once we’re both well-rested again, it seems to be time for another shopping trip. What would you say if you charter the course after getting a good night’s sleep? I will follow your lead.”

Fran blinks, and feels her ears swivel forward, as if she has somehow misheard him. “… me?”

“Why, yes,” Balthier is already up to his shoulders in the closet he has pilfered as his wardrobe and his voice is muffled, but she can hear his amusement clear as day anyway. “Who else should I ask? Bless his heart, but I would not trust Nono to steer us right. He understands the Strahlwell enough, but reading a map, well…”

“Why not pick a course yourself?” Fran interrupts him without thinking, still baffled. This is unpreceded; it has always been Balthier who led, and she who followed. A role-reversal feels much more significant than Balthier is trying to make this seem. After all… “Are you not the leading man in your story?”

“Our story, Fran. Ours.”

Balthier is busy pulling on a new shirt – of much lesser quality than its predecessor– over his head once he resurfaces and thus Fran has an unobserved moment to school her features and make sense of this grand declaration, handed to her so casually.

She barely manages to get a grip before Balthier smooths down the cloth and runs both hands through his unruly hair to tame it. He is still not looking at her when he continues, voice suspiciously light and casual.

“I had time to think.” While you were unconscioushe does not say but it rings loudly between them. “I might be a master thief and an even better pilot, that much is true, but I do not seem to have a knack for picking the our next destination. So I will leave that honor to you, and no one else.”

He turns, then, and whatever astonishment she has not gotten under control must show plain as day, for his smile spreads easily over his entire face, chasing away first hints of apprehension there. He has the gal to wink, this man, eyes bright. “Every good sky pirate needs a good navigator, after all.”

Something settles in Fran’s chest then, and suddenly, she understands. Understands that this is not only him apologizing again, but also a sign of trust. A reassurance that whatever happened today has not shaken his faith in her.

Fran is not prone to great outbursts of emotions. No Viera is. And yet. Once the real meaning of this gift Balthier is handing her with a boyish smile truly sinks in, she finds herself looking down at the torn shirt in her hands, blinking rapidly and struggling to keep her breath even.

The decision is a laughably easy one. Once she feels more in control again, she does not hesitate to push the shreds of cloth aside as far as possible and looks up at her friend. “No need to charter a course. Let us head for Nalbina next.”

Surprise flickers in Balthier’s features before he is already smirking again, head tilting. “To restock, I assume?”

Fran smirks right back, gestures at him; at the shirt with the too short cuffs and yellowing from age. “To get you something proper to wear.”

His crooked smile blooms into real delight and he throws his head back in a startled, happy full belly laugh, just like she had hoped he would. The sound fills the room and unravels the knot inside her completely, and she finds herself smiling at him much less smug, much gentler than she had wanted to.

“Why, Fran, don’t tell me you don’t like what you see!”

“Not particularly. Once you look into a mirror you will agree with me.”

“Ouch. You do know how to pick your words,” Balthier presses a hand to his chest, his eyes still laughing even while he has quieted down to mere chuckles. “But fine, as the lady wishes. Nalbina it is. Now?”

“Nothing is holding us here,” Fran points out. Knows that he will hear what really means. Let us not stay here any longer.

Sure enough, his expression turns serious ever so briefly before he smooths over it once more and dips low in a bow, hand outstretched. “Shall we, then?”

“We shall.”

Reaching out for him is easy. It always is. This time, Fran takes a tiny moment longer to admire her long-fingered hand in his shorter one. Hers is so very different from his. So very dangerous. Now, he knows that all too well.

And still, he does not hesitate to take it, hold it gently, and draw her to her feet so they are eye to eye once more.

He really is a marvel, this Balthier.

She is smiling with her entire face when she teases, “Choosing our course… Will that not make me the leading woman, then?”

“Please, Fran.” There is too much fond warmth there to make it sound like a reprimand, and they both know it.

She laughs, and says nothing about it anymore. It is simply not necessary. They both know that between them, there is no leader, and no follower.

There is only them, together, moving in tandem wherever they went.

And Fran would not want it any other way.

#balthier #fran #ffxii #fanfic #my writing #final fantasy xii #ff12

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libradusk · 4 years

Text

Morning Embers | Rex

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairing: Captain Rex x Reader

Summary: The morning after your unexpected ‘activities’ on Felucia leads both you and Rex towards a string of confessions you should have stumbled down long ago.

Warnings/Content: AFAB reader (though no gender is explicitly mentioned), smutty soft sex, admission of feeeeeelings and morning-after anxieties, a much more subby Rex than in the previous chapter (I mean...)

a/n: This is set during the events of “Bounty Hunters” from season 2 of TCW, except instead of fighting pirates the reader and Rex end up boning down.

Follow up chapter to this

It's the morning sun that first leads you to stir. It slips its finger-like rays through the cave’s mouth to rake across your marked skin, and play across your face until your lashes flutter open and force you to squint against the light. The rest of your body soon follows in whirring to life in a cascade of sensation, starting with the ache rooted across your muscles and ending with the solid warmth and weight of the second body currently entwined and draped across your own.

The trooper curled around you groans at the light’s intrusion, the sound vibrating down the slope of your shoulder from where his face nestles in the crook of your neck. You shiver at the feeling, it's a welcome distraction to the cramp brewing in your legs and the tenderness throbbing at the apex of your thighs.

You grimace slightly as you attempt to stretch out your limbs as best you can from where they remain trapped beneath the entanglement of Rex’s body. There’s a sizeable pool of slickness smeared across your inner thighs that has long-since gathered and cooled there following your ‘activities’ the evening before. It serves as another reminder of the line you had finally crossed alongside the Captain beside you, a prelude to the mark he had branded onto your heart that would neither fade nor be washed away, unlike the more physical reminders he had littered your body with.

But despite the discomfort and the aching and the little comfort your flimsy nest of clothing provided, you’re content, happy if not completely wrecked in a wonderful way.

You can’t help but smile to yourself as you turn to glance at Rex snoring lightly against your shoulder. For the first time since your impromptu landing, and possibly even before that, he seems peaceful, comfortable even despite sharing the same unforgivably hard surface of the cave floor, and no doubt sporting an arm that is devoid of feeling from where you’ve been laying on it all night. You risk the chance to ghost your fingers over the slope of his back, marvelling in the warmth of his skin even in the chill of the morning air. He’s no longer as furnace-hot as he had been at the peak of his lust-induced delirium, and you wonder if you had succeeded in fucking out the last of whatever toxin it was that had made a temporary home in his body.

The outside world begins to stir alongside you now, though you find it difficult to focus on the chimes of birdsong whistling through the morning air as your fingertips idly trace the indents your nails left behind on his shoulder blades, and the constellations of faint scars that you had failed to focus on before.

Your mind begins to drift and spiral before you can stop it.

Things were bound to change between you now.

Despite how much you had enjoyed your night with the trooper, it hadn’t exactly been with the Rex you had known for so long now. Granted you could look at it as a necessity for helping someone you cared for so deeply, as well as it scratching the itch that desperately needed sating between you both, but you still stung with the knowledge that when he awakened, you would no doubt be forced into an uncomfortable conversation, one that could only end with the two of you figuring out how to function as colleagues for long enough to survive the journey back to the others without getting yourselves dismissed for inappropriately fraternising before finally severing whatever it was that had built up ever since you had met him.

And that realisation hurt. You would happily spend the rest of your days trapped against the cold floor if it meant that reality would never unfold at your feet.

At least you could enjoy these last few stolen moments for a little while longer before they were locked away from you forever.

But as Rex subconsciously tightens himself around you once you place a soft kiss to his sleep-furrowed brow, you realise that it's never going to be that simple. Your chest aches with a newfound guilt that you know his own will mirror when he awakens.

You’re not entirely sure how long you lay there counting the steady rise and fall of his chest and daring to run your hand down the length of Rex’s back before he finally stirs awake, but it seems much too short all the same once his sleepy gaze locks with your own and causes the lump in your throat to constrict further. His vision appears honeyed and blurry as he releases an arm from you to paw at his eyes with the back of his fist, a yawn tapering off into a disgruntled grunt as he scowls at the morning light now spilling around the shield of your body and pouring through the entirety of the cave. Rex wears an expression that would be more befitting of a man hungover from a night at 79’s, rather than one who had just engaged in a night of toxin-induced fucking. The scene is almost too domestic in its nature, the contrasting softness of his expression and the painful emotions staining your thoughts only twisting your heartache further until it wrings your stomach between its claws with a sickening force.

Before you can spiral further into your misery however, he’s blinking the remainders of sleep from his eyes and focusing them directly on you.

You swear you can pinpoint the exact moment the realisation hits him as his pupils contract.

“Good morning, Captain.”

You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to say it. Even when you’re all but wilting under his gaze, your brain apparently can’t resist the urge to tease him, though your voice quivers despite its lightness, betraying what little attempt to save face your mind has scrambled for.

Rex remains frozen, and in any other setting you would find his expression comical. His eyes dart between your face and the way you absentmindedly worry your lip between your teeth, to down to where the two of you are tangled like lovers and sticky with a mixture of fluids. Another beat passes before his entire body catches up with his mind and attempts to curl in on itself in clear mortification. This time a bitter laugh tears itself from your throat as you shuffle away from him and catch the way he subtly attempts to flex the blood back into his dead arm.

“Oh, fuck.”

His expression is hidden as the expletive leaves him in a strained sigh, the shame coating his words like a clear, thick poison despite the hands smothering his face.

You bite down harder on your lip at the way his cursing muffles into frustrated gibberish as his body attempts to sink back into the unforgiving surface of the floor. His face remains hidden by the shutter of his fingers, though the flush colouring the tips of his ears red is a clear indication of what he looks like behind his hands. He lets out what you think is a cross between a sigh and a shout of frustration into his palms, tone raising in what you rationalise to be the finale of his self-deprecation. There’s a smidgen of comfort to be found in the way he has completely forsaken the stoic demeanour befitting for a Captain in the simple hope that the ground beneath him would mercifully open up to claim him.

You almost have the urge to pat him on the shoulder in a sign of solidarity until you catch yourself and cringe at the thought. Instead, you focus your attention on picking at a loose thread poking out of the seam of the uniform crumpled beneath you and attempting to formulate an excuse you could supply to the others to explain the various stains tarnishing the fabric.

Rex takes another moment to himself before clearing his throat and folding his hands atop his chest as he turns to address you properly.

“I’m sorry.” His words are simple and exhaled within a sigh, yet the crease etched deep in his brow speaks volumes in place of them. “I shouldn’t have - I wasn’t… kriff, I’m so sorry for everything.”

His face is painted in layers of shame and you have to fight back the urge to kiss away the guilt lining his forehead and mouth.

“I’m as much at fault in this as you are, maybe even more so.” Your voice comes out much smaller than you intend it to, almost getting lost in the shadows of the cave itself. Rex’s eyes wander from yours after you finish speaking, expression shifting into something unreadable, and for a horrible moment you fear you’ve said the wrong thing.

His fingers flex instinctively against each other, nervously - you note. You had seen them do this countless times before battle and meetings alike, though you weren't sure if he ever noticed this habit himself. The pair of brown eyes before you remain glossed over in thought even as you attempt to desperately search them for some semblance of a response.

“...No. I never meant for it to, you know, happen like… this, between us I mean.” The last word leaves him in another exasperated sigh that has him gripping the bridge of his nose in frustration. His tone holds a familiar discipline now, but his thoughts seem to spill out in a jumbled heap that reflect the state of his current head-space.

It takes a moment for the words to fully sink in, but as soon as they do, your pulse is back to hammering in your ears the same way it had yesterday when you had returned to stumble upon his naked form.

“What exactly are you trying to say?” The words jump from your mouth before you have a chance of reeling your thoughts back, and you hope to the stars that he doesn’t pick up on the swell of hopefulness buttering your shock.

You aren’t stupid, you can guess what it is he’s attempting to voice, anxious as he is, but you can’t trust that you’re not dreaming until the words fall from his lips themselves.

Rex breathes out deeply from his nose. For a brief moment, his eyes threaten to wander down to where the sunlight settles warmly over your naked chest before they firmly lock on to your own. An involuntary shiver passes through you at their intensity. The way he stares at you makes you feel more naked than what even your own bare body can reflect - though the urge to run away and hide has long since died. There was no point in attempting to hide yourself away at this point, especially considering you had all but implored him to expose the layers of his own vulnerability in front of you.

“I’ve wanted this, wanted more than just this I mean, for a long time now.”

A smile somehow manages to tug at the corner of your mouth despite the way your pulse has skyrocketed in your ears at his confession, the noise whiting out to a pleasantly shocked buzz as you let the words sink in and wrap around your heart. In the very back of your mind, you register the faint sting of a pinch against your upper arm. It's one that you don’t even realise you have bestowed upon yourself until your shoulder shifts uncomfortably with the pressure, but also reassures you all the same that, no - this is not a dream.

In a heartbeat, Rex has melted from a disgraced, morose soldier to a flustered mess of a man. He rubs at the back of his neck in a way that's almost cliché, but also so endearing that you can’t look away from the sight of him.

“‘Suppose there's no use in hiding it now is there? Not now I’ve gone and made a royal kriffing mess of everything, that is. Guess I’m the same old di’kut I’ve always been” He punctuates the statement with a bitter chuckle and a faux smirk that doesn’t meet his eyes. You frown, an uncomfortable weight settling itself in your gut once more.

“...Rex, I’ve wanted this too, you know. I just didn’t hedge my bets on it taking the effects of an alien toxin to force me to confront it.” Not the most eloquent way of putting it, but you attempt to match his embarrassed smirk with a smile of your own, hoping that the intention behind your statement reaches him all the same. “The only di’kut you’re guilty of being is an oblivious di’kut.”

That gets a grin out of him, one that stretches until the corners of his eyes are crinkling with mirth. Happiness blooms within you at the sight, and your body finally allows itself to relax for the first time since awakening that morning.

Where before there had been a burning heat stretched between you, now there is a comfortable marigold warmth twinkling across your skin as Rex leans forward to catch your lips with his own. This kiss is gentle, almost hesitant in how soft it is. You can feel the tickle of laughter bubble in your throat as your smiles meld together.

“I’ve made a real mess of you.” Rex murmurs the words half-apologetically against your lips as he ghosts a touch over the love-bites decorating your neck. The trail of his fingertips threads goosebumps across your flesh as he dips them towards your collarbone - itself painted with bruised hues that could rival the vividness of a night sky.

He sounds almost proud, feigning an apology through the way he dances butterfly kisses over your marked skin before drifting them back towards your face. You roll your eyes at him before sweeping him into a deep kiss that steals the breath from his lungs and has him keening into the hand you have cupped around his jaw, effectively silencing him with the sound of his own groan.

You remain like this for a while longer, lazily locked in an embrace that has you glowing from the inside out with a steadily creeping heat, both breaking apart only momentarily each time to mouth over the expanse of the other’s skin, hands caressing and exploring as though you hadn’t spent the better part of yesterday grasping onto each others bodies as though they were the only things that grounded you both. Rex’s broad hands rub apologetic little circles across the bruising peppering your hips and wrists, brow twitching each time your reflexive squirming forces his eyes to crack open to face up to his misdoings. You swallow his concerns behind kisses before they can leap from his lips, curling around him a little tighter each time.

He doesn’t fight you - finally content to give in to the affection dripping from every single one of your touches and allow it to wash over him.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum”

I love you.

The words slip off his tongue easily, as though they were always meant to be spoken against your lips. You find yourself smiling into the kiss once again, teeth scraping slightly against the plush velvet of his mouth just enough so that he knows you’ve translated it - you’ve spent adequate time around him and his brothers to pick up an inkling of mando’a, it proves to be enough to allow you to stumble through his words with a dizzy heart.

He freezes suddenly, and it dawns on you then that these words were not meant to reach your ears just yet. But he no longer needs to speak them for their intention to be known, to be felt by you in the way he holds you close as though you are the most valuable treasure across all the moons and stars. Your body sings as you press back against him with more fever than before, determined to have him feel the depth of your own adoration through the press of your lips alone.

I love you, I love you, I love you. I fear I have always loved you.

You kiss the mantra across his jawline, delighting in the way his heartbeat hammers in a crescendo with your ministrations as you flatten your tongue against his pulse. That all too familiar flicker of warmth begins to bloom deep in your stomach, snapping into something stickier once again as a particular scrape of your teeth sends a rumble echoing through his chest. The urge to pull him even closer prevails, and you resort to throwing your thigh over one of his own to tug him harder against you. The heat of his cock grazes against you as you straddle him. It weeps and twitches with the contact and succeeds in pulling a groan from you both even as your lips and tongues continue to mesh together.

Despite the ever rising fever of the situation, there is no animalistic urge driving the force of both of you this time. Instead you find yourself lazily dragging your hips over his, the movement slow and resonating with teasing affection and a desire to truly feel every part of him underneath you. Though you can feel his thighs shaking as they remain caged beneath the weight of your body, Rex remains largely still, the small cues his body whispers to you being the only indicators of his aching desire to be joined with you once more.

He’s being so good, but you can’t help but want to tease him a little more, to stretch this moment out even further behind each smile that twists into your kisses. A frown pulls halfheartedly at his brow and you trace it lightly with the tip of a fingertip in mock-comfort. Yet still he submits to your wiles, continuing to surrender himself to your mercy even as your core grinds wetly down against his arousal. It's only when the tip of it grazes over the slick seam of your opening that his hips finally betray his composure. They canter upwards with a jolt that has him hissing through his teeth and has you feeling the wettest you’re positive you’ve ever been in your life.

It's an impossible task to not revel in the sight of him twisting beneath you, blown ochre peering up through his lashes to stare up at you pleadingly as his hands sit patiently atop your hips. Your smile threatens to wobble into a smirk as Rex lets out a whine that edges on being pathetic. He’s so responsive to every touch, even the ghosting of your nails as you run them down and over the expanse of his chest with a feather-light caress.

You map out the crossfire of scars stitched across the skin there in the way you had longed to do the night before, circling each one lovingly as you sit back against the cushion of his abs. He moans openly now, emotion thick in his throat as you continue to lavish attention over the marks decorating his body, the sound betraying what little discipline he had left to hide behind. His hands drag themselves in an electrifying path down your thighs, fingers just barely brushing over the bone of your knees. Despite the lust swimming in his stare, his entire focus is trained on you as he silently begs for you to emancipate him with some form of relief.

Your touch wanders down towards the dip of his hips behind you, coming to rest just short of the base of his throbbing cock, and you delight in the way he twitches and writhes even further as you deny him once again. At last, the trooper throws his head back in defeat, practically growling with frustrated arousal yet never breaking eye contact with you, his face twisted with a tortured anguish of the most delicious degree.

“Please.” He mouths the words to you, voice stolen by a shuddering breath that falls from him in ragged pants. You cock an eyebrow, heart pounding all the while as you lean forward to tower over the quivering mess of a man you had sculpted with your teasing. Your palms press smoothly into the ground beneath Rex’s head as you support yourself to glance over him. The sensation is almost icy against the clamminess of your palms, but it's easy to ignore the cutting feeling as your lips brush just barely against his own with the proximity of your faces.

“What is it you want from me, cyare?”

Rex groans at the sound of his mother tongue on your lips, panting harder as his resolve crumbles to dust at last and forces him to jerk upwards to cup your face with a clammy palm. Your lower half sits slick and eager against the muscles of his abdomen and you know he can tell that you’re just as desperate for him as he is for you. But even still, you refuse to back down, not until you’ve succeeded in winding him just that last little inch further.

His thumb swipes over the apple of your cheek and you tilt your head to steal the tip of it past the part of your lips, tongue dashing across the pad of it just slightly, but enough to leave him reeling once more and tighten the fist his spare hand now has fisted in the mess of uniform beneath his hips.

“Please-” his voice is strained and gravelly as his words finally find purchase in the hazy air between you. “Need you, need you so badly.”

The way his groans wrap so delightfully around his whine of your name is all it takes for you to put an abrupt end to your foreplay. You grant him one last fleeting kiss before pulling backwards from his face, savouring the way his eyes snap open wide with shock and the way his upper body all but catapults upwards on his forearms when your hand reaches behind to finally grasp hold of his weeping cock. He barely has time to choke down on his words as you rise to angle your hips before you sink down and split yourself open across his lap.

Your eyes roll backwards behind closed lids at the stretch of him. He’s impossibly hot and pulsating within you as your hips settle flush together, his pelvis pushed directly against your clit with the angle. It dawns on you then, amidst the haze of sensuality clouding your thoughts, that you’ll likely never quite get used to the incredible size and strength of him, and that thought excites you more than you thought it possibly could.

You sigh deeply as you give an experimental buck of your hips, the sound tapering off into a moan at the creeping pleasure that licks up your spine from the shallow movement alone. The calloused palm of a hand laces itself with your own, and your eyes crack open to see Rex staring up at you with utter reverence. The borderline slack-jawed expression he sports as gazes over your body promises to turn you bashful with the sincerity of its emotion, of all things.

“You’re beautiful.” His voice is the softest you’ve ever heard it and it threatens to sap the final dregs of your bravado from your bones, your dominance faltering to fold in on itself. You counter his praise with another roll of your pelvis, only to whimper as he hits up inside you so perfectly that stars flash behind your vision. Your hands splay out against his chest as you work yourself into a sloppy rhythm, pleasure dictating the pace of your hips. Rex’s free hand slips down your body until the pad of his thumb can swipe against your clit in firm strokes, his ministrations still managing to drag a sob from your throat despite the slight quiver in his wrist.

“Fuck, Rex!” Your words are as broken as the shuddering movement of your hips and Rex’s other hand unfurls itself from your own to support your body as you bounce on his cock. “If you keep - if you keep doing that…”

He’s thrusting up into you now in return, grinding against your cunt so perfectly that you can feel your toes curl. His thighs slap against your own in a way that’s almost obscene, but it's difficult to focus on the sound amidst the way his hands work you in tandem: rubbing tight little circles against your clit with one while the other firmly pulls you down in time with his thrusts.

“It’s ok.” He whispers hoarsely to you, concentration strangling around the pent up affection in his tone. “Let me take care of you - take care of you the way I want to forever.”

The force of your orgasm knocks your head back and drops your mouth open into a silent scream. It ripples through you, catching the breath in your lungs and causing you to flutter around Rex even as you still above him. The increased sensation has him gasping and lunging forwards off of the ground. He pulls you against his chest and holds you tight as his hips stutter up into you harder. The newfound angle catches the both of you off guard and has you warbling his name with a sob, wound tight and shaking through the waves of white-hot pleasure bottoming out within your belly, completely and utterly overstimulated as you chase the light few drops of your release.

Rex follows soon after, yelling out as your walls milk him for everything he has until you slump forward against him. A plea of your name fades into a groan that you echo in time as he releases inside you, his abdomen flexing as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and delight in the way his breath fans across your skin and tingles over your frazzled nerves.

Your limbs buzz with fatigue as you drop your full weight against him, completely sated but exhausted once more. A mewl of a moan shivers from you as Rex shifts beneath you to support your boneless weight and pull you closer within his arms. His breathing has evened out much faster than you thought it capable of, yet he’s currently still clinging to you as though you’ll disappear if he relaxes in full for even a moment. His head rests lightly against your own as you hazily latch on to the exposed stretch of skin next to where your face is situated, slowly but possessively marking his collarbone in a way that has him shivering and tightening his hold on you even further. Your lips and teeth pair to stain him with a wordless contract that mirrors the one that decorates your own décolleté.

You are mine and I am yours.

The sun casts warmly into the entity of the cave now and you know that soon you’ll need to begin your journey back to Obi-Wan and the others, or at the very least contact them with the reassurance that you are both still alive. But alas, your mind is foggy with the lull of your afterglow, and as Rex begins to massage the aching expanse of your back and hips you find your thoughts occupied solely on the Captain once again. You smile, love-sick and dopey and so grateful that he can’t see your expression from where you’ve melted against his neck.

Though the rumbling chuckle that sounds throughout his chest and the twitch of his jaw against the crown of your head makes you realise that he most certainly felt it.

Surely the Jedi could bear to wait a few extra hours at least.

You certainly needed the time to formulate a stream of excuses for the state of you both, if nothing else.

#captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #captain rex #rex x reader #clone wars reader insert #OK I will let this man rest now #mine #rex

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weirdlittlecorner · 3 years

Text

Lin Kuei Hospitality: Cyrax

Notes: nsfw, 18+, comfort

Plot: A little slower, a little more sensual. Because Cyrax is a great character and deserves more attention and love

h/t = hair texture

Tags: @lilliannmac @onesillybeach @icy-spicy

—

The five men stood patiently as they awaited your decision. There was no doubt that any of them would show you a good time, which only made it harder to choose. You pursed your lips as you considered your options. Eventually, your attention shifted to the man in yellow. His dark skin and beautiful hair made him stand out as the most handsome of the men. But funnily enough, it wasn’t just his looks that drew your eyes to him. His demeanor was much different than the others. While he was standing at attention, as disciplined as the rest, there was a small crack in his stone exterior. As if he were in pain, though there was obviously nothing hurting him. That you could see, anyway.

It was almost as if he couldn’t stand being in the others’ vicinity. You wondered what could have happened to warrant such a reaction. This was the first time that you had ever seen any of the warriors up close, so you had nothing to go off of. It was most likely just some petty drama that was common amongst roommates- if they could even be considered as such. It would make the most sense. You, too, had your friends that you loved dearly, but you couldn’t imagine actually living with them every day. Either way, it wasn’t your place to pry.

The Grandmaster cleared his throat impatiently, motioning toward the line of men once more. Clearly wanting you to hasten and pick one so the rest could return to their business. Offering the dark-skinned man a warm smile, you nodded, “Come on, let’s get out of here,”

—

“Thank you for my new buzzsaw. I was able to try it out today; your work is very impressive,” The man, Cyrax, whispered as the two of you made your way through the long corridor to get back to your room. You smiled at the compliment, though that nagging confusion didn’t allow you to fully enjoy his words. His new buzzsaw. The one that had been amongst the new additions to the Grandmaster’s standard request.

What exactly did a clan like the Lin Kuei need all this new technology for? Again, it really wasn’t your business what your clients did with your products. But you couldn’t help but wonder... Whatever was going on, you just hoped that it was at least somewhat ethical.

The impending ‘improvements’ were a sensitive subject amongst the warriors. Cyrax had taken the most offense to the idea, as any normal person would, yet his fellow assassins thought that he was the crazy one. No, what was crazy was forcing one to give up their free will in exchange for the efficiency of automation. But he didn’t dare challenge the Grandmaster. Doing so would result in the most severe punishment; as if becoming a fusion of flesh and metal wasn’t already punishment enough.

“Hey, I noticed that you kind of… seem at odds with the others. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I just thought I’d ask if you wanted to talk about it,” You broke the silence, sinking down onto the bed and patting the space next to you. He claimed the empty space, sitting close enough so that your knees touched.

By the way his brows knitted together, you half-expected him to tell you. But he merely shook his head after a moment, “I am not at liberty to speak on the matter. But thank you for your concern,” His voice was even and had that same cold quality that was the standard, but you could tell that there was great sadness behind his words.

Instinctively, you opened your arms out to him, willing him to position himself in between them. You weren’t really sure what you had expected to happen, but soon enough, Cyrax was locked in your warm embrace. You gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, basking in the silent comfort of each other’s embrace. But soon you felt his shoulders stiffen, along with a kiss being pressed to the base of your neck.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” While you had been excited for tonight’s proposed activities, now was obviously not a great time. You wouldn’t ask him to perform for you just because it was what the Grandmaster had ordered. He needed, deserved, a break. And while you would certainly enjoy the contact, you refused to degrade the man. But he clearly didn’t think the same way. Not when his face was still buried in the crook of your neck.

“I understand that. This is something I want to do,” His words made you shiver as renewed excitement tore through your abdomen. Well, in that case…

A rough hand quickly found its way into your h/t, h/c locks, effectively undoing the delicate hairstyle. A pleasured shiver wracked your body as he used your hair to bring you closer to him as you two shared your first kiss of the night. You hummed as the tip of your tongue darted out to drag itself across his bottom lip, granting you an elicit moan in return.

Without breaking the intense oral lock, Cyrax’ hands freed themselves from the mess of hair in favor of untying the knots in your overshirt. You moved your dominant hand to assist him in the process while your other hand remained cupping his face. Shrugging to remove the fabric from your shoulders, you reluctantly pulled away to unclasp your bra. Seeing that you had things under control, Cyrax removed himself to focus on shedding his own clothing. But not before giving a hard, playful tug on the hems of your pants, effectively pooling them around your ankles.

A giggle slipped past your parted lips as you bent down, yanking your pants, along with your panties, off the rest of the way and kicking off your boots. You repositioned yourself so that your knees pressed against the soft sheets as you returned the favor to your partner. Eager fingertips clawed at the form-fitting armor, as if that would make it disappear faster. Cyrax hummed in amusement at your eagerness before unbuttoning the clasps and untying the knots for you. Impatience turned into wonder as your hands brushed over his chest. His abs. His shoulders. All of which were hard bands of muscle, but also soft in a way. Even his body reflected the gentle demeanor that had separated him from the others. The two of you were content to sit just like this, fingers exploring each other’s bodies.

You embraced each other, much like how you had done previously. Though this time, the intention was very different. The warmth radiating off of the two of you was almost unbearable, but you ignored it as you took to kissing each one of his prominent muscles. He sighed softly, enjoying your impromptu muscle worship. This continued until the pooling heat in your respective pelvises won out and you just had to go further. Cyrax shifted so that his legs boxed in your hips. Pressing himself against you once more, he brought his lips down to your manubrium to plant soft kisses in the crevice of your breasts. Meanwhile, his right hand was making quick work of his pants and boxers, his hard length pressing against your inner thigh. Which, if you might add, was already slick with your dripping arousal.

There was obviously no need to pregame, as you were both more than ready. You didn’t think that you could tolerate more teasing, anyway. Impatient once again, you wrapped your hand around the head of his penis to guide him in. The man groaned as your walls began compressing his cock immediately. With a few more pushes, he was completely in, reveling in the feeling of being consumed by your flesh.

Sighing, your arms found their way around his broad shoulders as he began thrusting into your tight core. The sounds of your mutual pleasure were only slightly louder than the creaking sounds the bedposts made as they scratched the wall behind them. Your e/c eyes closed in bliss as you enjoyed the rocking sensation of intercourse. His lips found yours once more as his speed increased and his hands made their way to your s/c legs. In a fluid motion, your ankles were craned toward the headboard as he pushed himself deeper. The sensation of your cervix being stroked caused you to scream, and you were glad that no one could hear you. You hoped not, anyway. What were once your gentle fingertips rubbing your lover’s back turned into talons that began clawing at the tingling flesh.

If it had hurt, he didn’t complain. But despite your muddled concerns, the feeling of you scratching his back only enhanced the warrior’s experience. He grunted each time your hips met, feeling his climax approaching. And you were right there with him, your smaller body trembling as the familiar knot twisted in your stomach. It kept building, and building until the knot finally uncoiled itself with a burst of wet heat. It felt as if the sun had just imploded inside of you and that you should be a pile of ash. But you were whole, despite the thick dick that was still stretching your pussy relentlessly.

Your screaming had grown impossibly louder as the warrior continued to batter your walls in anticipation of his own orgasm. What seemed like endless abuse to your cervix abruptly ended when you felt a spray of liquid spattering against the muscle. Your lover grunted, his brown eyes screwed shut and his bottom lip bleeding from his teeth cutting through the skin, as he hosed your insides with his warm semen.

Despite having finished, Cyrax made no move to pull out. Rather, he chose to rest over top of you, his cock warm inside your trembling hole. You allowed it.

There were no words. Maybe when you could think clearly again, you would be able to find your voice. It might be a little hoarse, to accompany the ache that would surely be present when you tried to walk in the morning, but that sounded like just that: a morning problem.

#cyrax #mk cyrax #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat #cyrax x reader #lin kuei

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fnf-brain-rot · 3 years

Text

Corrupt bf & Pico - you're all mine

⚠NSFW WARNING⚠

How was one supposed to react to panicked text messages sent around the time of three am?

Pico's insomnia kept him from having a decent sleep schedule, so he was awake to catch it. It was from Girlfriend. She sure as hell was never up so late, so what could possibly be so urgent?

"Hurry to my house"

"It's Bf"

"I won't be able to help you stop them"

Pico nearly thought he was reading everything incorrectly. He read those three messages over and over for about five minutes, trying to make sense of it. Stop them? What's wrong with Bee? He figured the longer he sat there, the less time he had to stop whatever was happening. With haste, he hopped out of bed, slipping on his usual combat khakis. He made sure his uzi was on him, as usual. This time he decided to take two with him. He rushed his way out of his apartment, almost forgetting to close the door behind him.

He tried calling her on the way there, running down the empty streets. There was an electric tingle in the air. He could feel something was wrong. He called her five times, and she still didn't pick up. He knew it would be a lost cause, but he still tried to call Bee. He called him about seven times. He had a mind to hit Nene and Darnell up about whatever the hell was going on, maybe the Uber kids finally decided to make a move or some shit? Who knew.

His lungs were on fire by the time he made it to her house. eerily enough, the front door was cracked open, as if someone made such a desperate escape that the doors to this mansion weren't important enough to keep closed. From where he was standing, he could see some lights throughout the house being left on. "Fucking god, what happened.." He grumbled to himself. The silence was deafening, as if time were standing still. Marching inside, he clutched his uzi at the ready tight to his chest.

The air inside the mansion was still, as if there had been no living creature to set foot inside for years. He used his phone flashlight to see, since the corridors tend to be dark at night. He, Bee, and Gigi all walked together through the halls, knowing Pico was uncomfortable by himself.

He was getting that feeling now.

He felt as if the shadows were dancing just beyond his eye sight, or maybe prowling, waiting for him to let his guard down. But when he looked, no one was there.

He stopped first in the mess hall. The light was on here. He relaxed a bit, quickly getting himself out of that dark hallway. It was fucking with his head. He opened his mouth to call for Gigi, but stopped himself. That's some dumb white people in a horror movie shit. If there was something in here, he would be the one to catch it by surprise.

He sniffed the air. Blood. He knew the scent well. He was hesitant to make his way into the kitchen, poking his head around the corner. He could have sworn he heard a scuffling sound, but when he flicked on the light, nothing. This whole situation had him on edge. It would have anybody on edge.

He tried calling Gigi again, quickly rushing to the staircase in the main area. He called her until he could hear her phone, it would give him a lead on where they've gone. It was in her bedroom. He could have guessed as much. The room was a damn mess, as if a tornado had come through and thrown everything around. Oh god, is Gigi okay? Pico felt the blood drain from his face, and his stomach twisted into a nervous knot. He smelled blood earlier, but didn't know where it came from.. There were some spots on the floor near her bed. He grabbed her phone to look at it. Thank goodness he knew her password. He unlocked it and looked through it to see if she called or texted anyone else. She had an unfinished message she would have sent to Pico.

"It won't stop until"

Until what?

"Dammit.." Pico growled under his breath, then set her phone back down. Where the fuck was she? Where was Bee?

He took a moment to breathe in her room. He couldn't lose them. He couldn't lose anyone else. He didn't want to be alone again. Not again..

No... Now's not the time..

With a shaky breath, he stood off the bed, and marched out of her room. He sniffed the air again. Still blood.. but a trail. He looked down at his feet to see the trail of blood. It led down the staircase off to the left. Following it took him to the last place he wanted to go.

The basement.

This never goes well in horror movies and he knows that.

He almost considered not going down there at all, but the fact that this was Bee and Gigi, and quite possibly the rest of the city in trouble, well, he would have to fight again. Just like the old days.

He gathered the courage, pulled out his phone, and descended into the dark floor.

It was pitch black. He couldn't see a few feet in front of his flash light. He could feel it. Them. Her, him. They were down here. He could see the shadows move, he could feel the darkness breathing down his neck. He tightened his hold on his uzi, then spoke. "Come the fuck out, now."

His demand was followed by immediate laughter, which made him flinch. He swung his phone behind him, but he still couldn't see a thing. That's when something knocked against his hand, something cold and wet. His phone tumbled against the concrete flooring, and he was quick to shoot in whatever direction it came from. Twice. Nothing. "Stop fucking with me and come out!" He growled angrily. What felt like an arm wrapped around his waist, and he acted quickly, turning around to grab the source of it, but his arms were quickly restrained above his head, presumably from the same thing that knocked his phone away.

He shivered at the sensation, and was about to yell again when someone finally spoke. "You've always been such a fighter.. You would even fight your own lovers?" It was.... "B.. Bee?? Where are you?" His eyes darted around blindly in the dark, and he bit his lip. "I'm right in front of you, silly."

"Well I wouldn't be able to fucking tell that in the pitch black darkness, dipshit." Pico spat back in response, only for Bee to giggle. "So tough.. Have it your way."

He heard the flick of a light switch, and was apalled by the sight in front of him.

Only about a foot in front of him stood.. Boyfriend? But... Looking at him was like looking into a void. His entire body was engulfed in this black substance. His face was almost unrecognisable. It was as if he had a row of razor sharp teeth to replace his normal ones, and he could only see one eye. That eye was blank white, like his own, only sharper and more insidious looking.

Pico's heart dropped to his stomach. He was at a loss for words. "What the fuck are you.." His words came out in a mumble, like he could barely speak. It laughed at him. "I'm your Boyfriend, silly!" It cooed back, moving only so he was a few inches away from him. Their bodies touched, and Pico let out another fierce growl before tugging at his restraints. They were.. Weird tentacle shit, go figure. He quickly glanced around, and that's when he noticed another body on the ground some ways away, and assumed the worst.

She was breathing. Shallow.

"Gigi! Girlfriend what-" He stopped again. The same dark matter had mostly consumed her body. A painful grin stretched along her face. She looked terrified, yet she couldn't move. The only spot not touched by the matter was her right eye. She looked at him. "Holy shit this is fucked.. Look I'd love to stay and plot evil shit with you, but can you fuck off and let them go?" Pico swallowed nervously. That was about as nice as he could ask.

"Hm.. I dunno.. You just might have to beg for your life first. I have just the thing for you." The thing that called itself his Boyfriend giggled up something sinister. It moved its arm from his waist, then threw Pico across the room. The ginger tumbled to the floor with a grunt, but quickly regathered himself, reaching for his uzi with a quickness. Still not quick enough. A tendril knocked it from his hand, then grabbed his wrist. Pico managed to catch another one coming at him, just barely managing to hold it. He had a scowl on his face. "If you're so fucking bad why not fight hand to hand?" He called out to him, and it scoffed. "Yeah yeah, I'm not here to fight sweetheart." Another one lunged for his leg, and with two apendages restrained, he was pinned to the wall, rather harshly.

It knocked the wind out of him, and he shook his head, but his other leg was caught, and they were spread apart, and his arms were lifted above his head again. Oh, fuck this. "Jesus what the fuck do you want?? What the fuck is your goal?!" Pico was growing desperate. It sure had a knack for laughing at him. "I want to hear you scream." With that, it advanced on him, continuing to walk toward him. One more of the slimy apendages slithered up Pico's sweater, and it made him shudder. It was called into question what type of scream we were talking about here.

That question was soon answered when he felt the flick against his nipple, and the tearing of his favorite fucking sweater off his body. Honestly he was kinda mad about that, but now wasn't the time to worry about clothes! He couldn't move, as much as he tried, then he felt a searing hot pain on his hip. It was touching him, with its sharp claws. All it did was poke him, and doing so felt like it was fire to his veins. The dark matter seeped into his skin, staining the white surface with the black inky void the other two were covered in. He bit his lip to hold back his sound of pain, only to be conflicted with a tendril beginning to fondle his junk through his pants.

"You're fucking sick." He snarled through grit teeth, and it simply shook his head. "Oh Pico," It unzipped his pants, then pulled them down to his knees with ease. "I'm only doing this because I love you." It grinned, but it was only wicked and crazed. Pico shook his head. This sure as hell wasn't his Boyfriend. He let out a surprised grunt at the feeling of his shaft being toyed with, and absentmindedly bucked his hips. His eyes flew wide upon realisation, and he struggled to move again. "F-Fuck off!" He choked out, trying to ignore the heat that rose to his cheeks.

"Always so cute.. Yet you look at me crazy when I suggest you bottom, huh?" Pico shook his head again, trying to block out the words. It couldn't have Bf's memories. It wasn't him. It wasn't. He gnashed his teeth together as it dragged another claw along his abdomen, watching the matter spread against his flesh, slowly, painfully. "Fuck this.." Pico groaned out, squeezing his eyes shut. If he could tap out honestly he would. It laughed at him again, one of the tendrils prodding at his little pink hole. "I mean.. that is the plan." It teased him, and it pushed inside of him. It was already slick with whatever was coating these things, but the abrupt movement had Pico crying out in pain. The ginger threw his head back, and he tried not to make a sound, but this all hurt like hell. It hurt.. But.. It felt so.. good? That had to be this corruption talking, it had to be.

Pico's back arched, and he felt it move in and out, pushing near his prostate, pulling out when it got close. "Oh... Fuck... This..!" He exclaimed breathlessly, moving his hips around as it began to move faster. The thing standing in front of him seemed pleased, wrapping a firm claw around his cock. Good Lord this thing was kinda hot.. Wait. Pico gasped out at the feeling of it finally hitting his prostate, that being enough to push him to the point of tears. "Now, like I said." It began to speak again. More of the blackness had claimed more of his body. He could feel it crawling under his skin. "Beg for it to stop. You wanted me to be.. 'let go', right? So beg for it." It had a cocky smirk on its face. Pico couldn't believe what the fuck was happening. "P-Please.." It took everything in his power not to moan his words. "L-Let.. Let them go.." He had been biting his lip so hard it started to bleed. The creature laughed, damn there crushing his length in his hand. "That's not what I want, Pico dear." It stated vaguely.

Pico rolled his eyes, then tilted his head back. "Please.. P-hah...! Please..! Let them... G-Go..!" He begged, against his wishes of course. That would have pushed him to the edge if his dick wasn't being practically crushed right now. "Awe, that's a good boy, Pico.." It cooed proudly. Pico's face was on fire, from what he assumed was blush. How fucking embarrassing. "Unfortunately you're a little too late." It smirked again, and let go, allowing Pico to let go as well, relaxing a bit as he released blissfully, but wasn't aware. "Now you get to be with us. Forever." Pico could barely register the sinister laughter as his eyes glazed over, and his consciousness was pushed back to be a passenger, unable to stop the laughter that rose from his own chest to join the cacophony of the thing that called itself his Boyfriend.

And now he resided inside the thing that called itself Pico.

#pico x bf #fnfboyfriend #pico #friday night funkin #corruption mod #fnf corruption mod #fnf pico #boyfriend x pico

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imagine-darksiders · 3 years

Note

Hey there, I’m not sure if you still take requests or anything but agh, I’ve been going through a really rough depressive episode since Christmas and your blog brings me such joy. I was wondering if you’d be kind enough to write something about War saving reader from demons or something along those lines? Or even just something fluffy? No pressure of course, if you’re not up to it that’s fine :)

Sorry this took so long, hope you’re doing a bit better now, though if not, maybe this will at least cheer you up for a few minutes <3 <3

War X Reader.

---

When you ran into the formidable Red Rider in the ruined streets of your old home city, you knew without a doubt that you were gaping up at a veritable force of nature, rather than a man.

War turned out to be everything the name suggests.

Physically, he's enormous - taller than you by at least a few heads and broad as an ox, cloaked in red and covered from head to toe in weathered battle armour the colour of gun smoke. His pale face – half hidden by a crimson hood – seems to be etched with a permanent scowl that only ever shifts if he's snarling or unleashing a blood-curdling battle cry. Not once in all the time you've been travelling with him have you seen him crack a smile.

Although, you suppose, a Horseman of the Apocalypse might not have a reason to smile, nor an inclination to.

'Oh well,' you muse as you follow the gruff and stoic behemoth through the inner-city graveyard one foggy night, 'He's better company than the demons, at least.'

War certainly wouldn't have been your first choice of travelling companion, just as you're sure you aren't his. Yet, as circumstance dictates, if you want to stay alive, you'll just have to put up with his imposing presence and general lack of social graces.

All of a sudden, you're halted in your tracks when an enormous, metal gauntlet catches you roughly in the stomach, the fingers splayed wide against your shirt.

Slightly winded, you open your mouth and a wheeze shoots out. “What?” you choke, throwing War a nervous glance. He merely stands there in utter silence with his head turning on a slow and constant swivel whilst a pair of icy, blue eyes scan the graveyard, searching. After a few seconds, you swallow down a lump and hesitantly ask, “You see something, big guy?”

The Horseman's broad chest puffs out at the nickname, though you can't tell whether it swells from indignation or pride. However, instead of offering clarity, he reaches up with his free hand and tugs his sword – Chaoseater – from its place strapped to his back, and at the same time, he begins to push firmly at your belly, forcing you backwards. “H-hey!” you yelp, “What're you doing?!”

Before you can protest further, your spine hits something cold and solid and you whip your head over a shoulder to see that you've been unceremoniously herded up against a large, mould-caked headstone. Sending a quick, mental apology to the owner laying buried just below your feet, you crane your neck around War's bulk in an attempt to see the cemetery beyond him, only to have your vision promptly obscured by the appearance of familiar, billowing smoke. In another second, the mass of darkness has taken on a much more tangible form and you suddenly find that the minimal space where you're sandwiched between a Horseman and a headstone has been invaded by the Watcher.

“What's the hold up?” his wispy voice hisses in your ear and forces you to fight back a shudder at the chill his trailing, vaporous tail leaves when it brushes against your legs.

“Dunno,” you reply in a whisper, “I think War sees something.”

The Horseman in question lets out a low grunt. “Not see.. Smell,” he clarifies, which is as descriptive an explanation as he's inclined to give, apparently.

Scoffing, the Watcher mutters, “All I can smell is this rancid human standing next to me...”

“If you don't want to smell me, then why are you hovering so close,” you shoot back, swatting at the wisps of smoke that escape from the top of his head until he draws back to a less suffocating distance. Still, with your curiosity peaked at War's strange admission, you tilt your head back and sniff idly at the air. “It just smells... earthy? Uh, and kind of sweet, I guess, like-”

“- death...” the Nephilim finishes.

You fall silent for a couple of seconds, using the time to share a bemused glance with the Watcher. “A graveyard that smells like death, huh?” you smirk, noticing that all six of the sprite's eyes are now glimmering with amusement,“Wonders will never cease.”

While he may be far from a fan, the Watcher still takes great delight in seeing you poke fun at War, and of course, he can hardly resist jumping in with a jab of his own. “Next, he'll complain that a forest smells of wood,” he sneers.

You're not quite fast enough to bite back a laugh as it bursts out of your throat.

“Quiet.” War's growl causes your mouth to snap shut and the Watcher bristles irritably, preparing to remind the Horseman of his place when the blood red hood twists to one side and you briefly catch a glimpse of War's striking, blue eye. He doesn't look angry at you though, or at least, no angrier than usual. Instead, if you didn't know any better, you'd swear you can detect the barest sliver of confusion as the Horseman peers down at you and asks, “Do you hear that?”

Furrowing your brows, you cock your head and listen intently to the eerie ambiance of the graveyard.

To begin with, there's nothing especially out of the ordinary, only the creaking of rusty hinges as the wrought-iron gates swing to and fro in a gentle breeze and the skittering of leaves against the cobblestone path somewhere nearby, or the soft 'ssshk,' 'ssshk,' 'ssshk,' that breaks up the monotony of near-silence -....

“Wait a second,” you murmur, holding a finger up and going completely still, straining your ears to hear the shifting, shucking sound coming from somewhere very close by. So close, you can feel the vibrations through your.... feet?

The Horseman locks eyes with you and all at once, your heart plummets into your shoes when, at the exact same time as War and the Watcher, you realise exactly where the bizarre sound is coming from and all three of you drop your gazes to the heaped dirt you've been standing on.

There isn't even a split second to react before a cold, clammy hand suddenly shoots out of the loose soil below you and latches itself around your ankle, gripping with a supernatural strength that causes your bones to grind painfully together. Although you know that screaming is the absolute last thing you ought to do in the middle of a demon-infested city, the unexpectedness of being grabbed it sends a bloodcurdling shriek jumping up your neck and out of your mouth, drowning the graveyard in a noise like an especially shrill dinner bell.

Sensing the impending battle, the Watcher swiftly disappears back into War's gauntlet as the Nephilim lunges towards you and curls his fist into the front of your shirt, wrenching you towards his chest without thinking too hard on the consequences of doing so. The motion does rip you free of the sinewy hand that flails in the air afterwards in search of its lost victim, but in doing so, long strips of your skin are left behind, embedded underneath the vicious claws of whatever had a hold of your ankle.

Gritting your teeth against the sting, you spin about, feeling your back hit the Horseman's sturdy chest and he keeps you tucked under him for a moment, his lips curling into a snarl as the two of you stare down at the emerging arm that braces itself against the soil. Then, in a fashion hideously similar to that of those old zombie movies you used to watch, the earth begins to rise as the monstrosity buried beneath it heaves itself up and out of its premature grave.

The sweet stench of rot hits your nose full force now, but you hardly even register it, too busy gaping at a grinning skull that emerges from the tumbling dirt, its empty eye sockets and parting jaw filled with soil and worms, all of which are flung in every direction when the living skeleton wrenches the rest of its body onto solid land.

Your startled yelp is swallowed as War promptly tries to swing you behind him, letting go of your arm in the process and inadvertently sending you crashing to the ground at his heels. Not that you can complain about the rough treatment however, for not a second later, the skeleton throws itself at him and lets out a shriek of outrage that cuts through you as sharp as any knife.

The Horseman, apparently having recovered from the unexpected attack, simply lifts his gauntlet and engulfs the monstrosity's skull when it leaps within range. In a rather anticlimactic turn of events, the skeleton's assault is cut short and now it resorts to scrabbling furiously at War's metallic fingers. You forget that for a man as large as he is, the Nephilim can move extraordinarily fast.

However, before you can marvel for much longer at War's impressive catch, you stiffen, splaying your fingers over the ground underneath you and twisting your head around to watch a few, nearby pebbles skitter up and down in place.

“U-um, War?” you gulp, now painfully aware of a continuous and thunderous rumble coming from deep under the earth, as though an enormous train is careening along on its tracks somewhere far below you.

At the sound of your timid voice, the Horseman spares a glance over his shoulder and sees you sprawled out on the ground, your attention turned to the graves lining an iron fence several metres behind him. Casting the skeleton dangling from his fist a last, fearsome grunt, War flexes his gauntlet. There's a sickening 'crack!' and the creature's flailing limbs fall perturbingly still. He tosses it dismissively to one side and you hear the clatter of broken bones hit the stone nearby as the Horseman turns fully and blinks down at you, his eyes going immediately to the bloody welts left in your ankle.

Sensing his gaze, you whip your head about and almost gasp at the wrathful expression he's subjecting your injury to. One side of the Nephilim's mouth and nose scrunches up until he's giving you a very uninterrupted view of his gleaming teeth and you find yourself swallowing loudly, your heart throwing itself against your ribcage so violently, you'll hardly be surprised if it manages to break out of its bony prison. Your eyes fly nervously to War's hand as he forces it out of the tight fist it had curled into, regarding him closely when he raises it, draws back in hesitation for a moment before at last reaching down towards you.

He doesn't manage to get far though, because just then, the rumbling you'd been feeling reaches a crescendo and there's a sudden cacophony of howls and bellows all around you, filling every corner of the dark graveyard like a terrible orchestra playing its funeral march.

War tears his eyes off you and raises his head, leering hard at another skeleton that bursts out of its tomb, though it’s soon followed by a second, then a third, and after that, you stop counting because the knowledge of how many undead are suddenly surrounding you makes you feel queasy and light-headed.

A veritable plethora of skeletal monsters, each varying in shape and size, turn their skulls in your direction, their hateful, burning glares washing over you with the force of a tidal wave and you wonder if you're the object of their ire because they're envious of your life, or hungry for your flesh.

Regardless, neither leads to a favourable outcome for you.

You're almost embarrassed at the sob that manages to push out from between your tightly closed lips, but staring into the faces of creatures you know had once been human is a little more than you're equipped to handle.

Behind you, War's immense shoulders bristle when he realises that the majority of skeletons have their sights set undeniably on the vulnerable human sitting near his boots. In response to the clear threat, something angry rushes to curl itself around the Horseman's heart. At the very epicentre of his swirling rage, he becomes aware of only one thing. Those skeletons are standing between his charge and safety – and that, War will not permit.

Like a murderous river eddying around a fern, the Nephilim steps out in front of you and plants his feet firmly on the ground, an immovable barrier of flesh and metal standing protectively between you and the salivating undead.

Once again, you find yourself with a grave at your back and the Horseman to your front.

Then, all of a sudden, something changes.

Still subjecting the skeletons to his loathing glare, War falls back a few steps, moving himself around and to your rear where he proceeds to crouch over you, his chest pressing uncomfortably against the top of your head until you get the message and bend forwards as well, twisting your neck about to shoot him a wary glance but finding his eyes are still trained on the circle of creatures surrounding you. He plants one hand into the soil, digging in with the clawed tips of his gauntlet whilst with the other, he raises Chaoseater high above your heads where it lingers, poised and waiting - for what however, you have no idea.

As the bloodthirsty blade begins to hum in anticipation, you try to twist your neck around to peer up at War, hoping that your horrified expression accurately conveys the question you want to ask. 'What the Hell are you doing!?'

He doesn't look back at you.

With the skeletons prowling towards you like a pack of circling, salivating dogs, he can’t afford to lose focus.

You're not ashamed to say you let out a hoarse cry when, without warning, they all charge as one.

The skeletons are just a few feet from being right on top of you but as they close in, one of your hands flies up to cover your face and in the same moment, War suddenly brings Chaoseater down hard, plunging the blade's tip into the ground mere inches from your toes.

No sooner has it breached surface soil than a dozen more blades burst up from within the earth, each resembling the Horseman's treasured sword.

The skeletons don't stand a chance.

Like a shockwave, the ethereal blades that have been conjured from seemingly nowhere continue to erupt out of the ground and take the charging undead by surprise.

Femurs, rib cages and tibias are obliterated in less than a second, skulls are thrust from the ends of spines as Chaoseater's earth-bound friends impale the skeletons from below, a place where they never would have guessed an attack could come from.

You can feel the heat of the blades closest to you, hot enough to singe some of the hairs off your legs, no doubt.

Then, just as soon as they appeared, they begin to retract back inside the earth, and when the dust settles and you lower your arm to look, all that's left is a scattering of bones, strewn about the vicinity. Blank, featureless skulls stare back up at you through unseeing eyes, dead – for what you really hope is the last time.

“Ho-lee crap,” you breathe shakily, flopping back onto your elbows and knocking your head against the underside of War's chest, adding, “Ow,” at the latter.

“You're hurt...” The rumble of the Horseman's voice rolls gently over you, prompting you to glance up, only to find a pair of bright, blue eyes blinking back down at you.

Lifting a hand, you rub absently at the spot where you'd bumped your skull into his armour. “I'm all right, that didn't actually hurt.”

“No,” he insists in a growl and roves his gaze down to the scratches on your ankle. You follow his glare, blanching at the sight of the gouges left behind in your skin and grimace, bracing your hands on the ground in an attempt to pick yourself up. You hardly manage to get one foot underneath you before a large, metal hand promptly grabs the back of your shirt and lifts you effortlessly into the air. “Hey!” you squirm, trying to stretch your toes to find purchase on the ground, “Put me down, War. I can stand up by myself!.”

The Horseman makes a skeptical sound at the back of his throat, but he does lower you – albeit hesitantly – until your shoes meet the dirt once more.

Any confidence in the strength of your legs is short-lived however the moment his hand withdraws.

You take a step, only to find yourself immediately punished for the action when a white-hot bolt of pain lances up from your ankle and you cry out, teetering sideways and trying to hop desperately for a few seconds on your good leg.

Just then, there's a deep sigh of exasperation and War's gauntlet is at your side in the next second, sliding around your waist and nudging you upright again.

“Here, sit down. Let me see it,” he murmurs, and you hesitate to say he's gentle when he turns you around and attempts to guide you to the ground once more.

“Are you sure it's a good idea to stop?” you ask, leaning out of his grasp to glance around the shadowy cemetery, “I mean, that wasn't exactly a quiet fight...”

The implication hangs in the air between you and after a moment, War draws his head up and blinks, the strategist in him concurring with you. “That is... a fair point,” he mumbles and if you weren't so grateful to him for keeping you alive, you'd be insulted that he sounds surprised by your common sense.

In keeping with the typical, straight-forward bluntness you've come to expect from him, War wastes no time in bending down and extending his arms, aiming to scoop you off your feet. “Come,” he declares, “I shall carry you to Ulthane. He will know best how to treat a human's wound.”

The Horseman’s permanent frowns deepens though, when you hop away from him on your good leg, splaying your hands out to stop him from proceeding. Undeterred however, he gives you a warning glower and huffs, “Keep still.”

“W-woah, hold on now,” you protest, stumbling back as he once again tries to reach for you, “Seriously, War, thank you. But I can walk, I'm not a baby who needs to be carried!”

“You are injured.”

His tone implies that he's angry, but the way he's now staring at your leg makes you consider whether he's angry at you, or something else entirely. “Wait, what if... what if you need to use your sword?” you point out, “You won't be able to if your arms are full of me.”

You can tell that he's far from happy, but he tilts his head, pondering you for a moment longer before huffing brusquely and averting his fiery gaze. “Very well,” he grumbles, adding, “But if you fall again, don't expect me to catch you.”

The Horseman's acquiescence, if nothing else, at least reassures you that you won't be a total liability. Satisfied for the time being, you nod and turn about, starting to hobble off towards the cemetery gates, confident that the enormous Nephilim will overtake you in a few, steady strides. You make it all of five steps before your ankle turns to jelly and seems to lose all of its bone structure, collapsing out from under you and as you topple sideways once again, arms flailing, you idly wonder whether the damage is only skin-deep.

Luckily, whatever jarring impact you might have made with the stone path is prevented by a strong set of arms that emerge like a pair of safety nets and sweep underneath your knees and shoulders, letting you fall harmlessly into a secure hold. Gasping, you tip your head back and sheepishly risk a glance at the Horseman, meeting his disapproving frown. At the sight of it, you try and push against his broad chest to put some distance between yourself and his ire, but he soon silences you with a throaty growl that reverberates through your head.

Pursing your lips, you reluctantly give up on your meagre effort of trying to escape the warrior and instead let yourself flop gracelessly in his hold. “Hmph.. I thought you said not to expect you to ca-” War whips his head down to glare at you so fast, you instantly allow your mouth to click shut and decide – perhaps wisely - not to finish that sentence.

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wixelt · 3 years

Text

Sand (Hermitverse AU)

The first thing False Symmetry really noticed, beyond the splitting headache pounding unrelentingly at her skull, was the heat.

It bore down on her with an unrelenting fury that little else save for fire and lava could match. Before she'd even opened her eyes, she knew she had to be in a desert.

As if the sand shifting beneath her hands and the blazing sunlight piercing her eyelids wouldn't have told her that already.

Prone on her back, False groaned, doing her best to push through the painful miasma clouding her thoughts. She cracked one eye open slowly, then the other, wincing only slightly as the sun’s glare brightened in her gaze.

“Owww...” she shook her head weakly, staring up at the cloudless sky above. Steeling herself, she gritted her teeth. “O-Okay, let's try...”

Then, with another groan of aching effort, she drew her legs inward, pivoting upward and forward into a sitting position as best she could. Joints still protesting, she slumped, catching her breath as her body decided exactly how messed up it was.

False would normally have said she'd been through worse and would be fine, but as much as that might have been true for the pain itself, she really had no precedent for, well, any of this, really.

“What was it...?” she muttered wearily to herself, still a small part delirious as she glanced about, searching for any notable landmarks as she sought to get her bearings on exactly how she’d wound up in this situation. But…

Nope. Just sand, sand, more sand and— oh look, even more sand over there, too. Joy.

It probably didn't help that she was surrounded on all sides by tall, imposing dunes and sand cliffs. That kind of thing really limited how far someone could see.

Which meant there was probably some climbing in her near future.

False’s headache – though slowly fading – pulsed again, reminding her that she was in no fit state to even stand properly, let alone make that sort of ascent.

Normally, she’d listen to common sense. In the face of… whatever was going on, though...

False managed to begin only barely standing before she visibly winced, immediately dropping and clutching her head with a barely restrained cry of pain, sand displacing slightly beneath her as she abruptly fell, feet sliding out from beneath her.

Okay, so… Maybe not just yet.

“Damn.” The blonde warrior sighed to herself, running her hands down her face in an effort to centre herself, wiping the perspiration from her eyes. She really wasn’t liking being a sitting duck like this. It didn’t suit her at all.

Especially given what was happening.

…

…come to think of it, what was happening?

False’s brow furrowed, doing her best to draw together scattered fragments of recent memory floating about amidst her disarray. They were… less than cooperative, but slowly a picture she could recognize began to form, to her slight relief.

She remembered… panic. That, at least, had been pretty consistent.

In fact, she was fairly sure that once the shock of suddenly waking up in a blisteringly hot desert wore off and she was able to overcome her mild concussion to get her whereabouts, some manner of nervous breakdown would be due.

That wasn’t going to be very constructive at the moment, though, so as for now…

There’d been a light, of some kind, False recalled. This unnatural, all-consuming glow that had descended from the heavens above, washing over the island and all its surroundings in twisted, impossible waves. The land itself had almost felt as if it were unravelling beneath her feet, the air permeated by this inescapable sense of… wrongness.

Though she was wary to admit it, it recalled the unease she sometimes felt around one of Impulse’s void holes, cracked in the bedrock to appease whatever new manner of joking pseudo deity a ‘Boatem’ was meant to be. This time, however, the feeling had been multiplied a thousand-fold, instincts screaming at her to run in the other direction.

The pieces beginning to slot back into place, she remembered that as the broken light had subsumed all before them, she and Jevin had stepped between it and the other two in the group, Stress and Gem both caught in the moment, neither a pushover but both frozen in the suddenness of the situation, unsure what to do.

Against such a large wave of force, however, such an act – though one False hoped would be seen as courageous rather than stupid in hindsight – had been pointless, and she had whited out, only to wake amidst burning sands with – unless her senses were deceiving her – a completely drained internal inventory.

Alone.

In a creepy desert that was – the longer she paid attention it – seeming more and more unsettlingly quiet, even lacking much wind in its stillness.

Which meant… Wait.

“Oh no…” Eyes bulging in alarm, False shot to her feet to with practised but haphazardly frantic speed, “Oh no, no, no… No!” Her skull pulsed again, but it was weak enough now that she could ignore it. With nothing more than a brief, dizzied stumble, she was moving.

Suddenly, the glaring and alarmingly absolute absence of three others was the only thing on her mind.

“JEVIN!” False’s booted feet scrabbled wildly against the unhelpfully loose sand, the soft and uneven ground easily giving way with every step as she desperately scrambled up the side of one of the dunes, seeking higher ground. Her voice echoed for a moment amidst the dunes and cliffs with a call for the friend within the trio that she’d known the longest, but it was quickly swallowed up by the desert’s oppressive emptiness.

No answer.

“GEM?!” Her tone was more fear-tinged, now, sights darting back and forth searchingly as she rose faster, now, finally finding some more solid footing beneath the top layer. Quickly, she surged forward, one foot in front of the other as she called out for a more recent friendship a second time, “GEM!”

Still no answer.

Please, come on…

“…STRESS…?” False tried, a little weaker but no less vocal, for the ray of unyielding positivity she hoped would uncloud this mess, trailing off a little as hopelessness clawed at her, no response once again leading to an eerie, uncomfortable silence. She did her best to brush it aside, however. She was stronger than that. She had to be, for them.

They’d… They’d probably just been scattered. That had to be it. They were almost certainly around here somewhere. All she needed to do was find them, and they could make their way back to the island – though only the gods knew just how they’d ended up in such a distant and unfamiliar desert biome, far beyond the limits of their new world’s current resource gathering borders – and Xisuma could clear up this whole mess.

It’d just be another weird happening that the Hermits could all look back on years from now and laugh about… right?

Even as the thought crossed her mind, something in the pit of False’s stomach – some long-refined warrior’s instinct – told her that wasn’t going to happen.

The others were all resourceful when push came to shove, though. They… They’d be fine until they could group up.

“Ungh…” False grunted, staggering slightly and almost losing her footing on the unstable ground. She scowled to herself, pressing ever onward to the potential vantage point up above, only steps away from her, now. To a place where she could work out where the others were, and equally as much where she was. “Come on…” With one final push, accompanied by a grunt of effort, she finally crested the top of the vast dune.

“Good… Right!” she wiped the sweat from her brow. “Now where… am… I…?”

False slowed to a stop atop the dune, trailing off into the overbearing silence. She fell slack jawed, struck dumb as the gravity of her situation set in from the sight before her alone.

In the days and weeks to come – and even beyond that – this feeling of being completely and dangerously out of her depth would be propagated by how this terrible, lonely eldritch desert seemed to span infinitely in every direction, no trace or slightest notation of healthy green visible on the horizon no matter which way she looked. The true sign of a dying world.

The lack of any doorways, hidden as they were, out of this realm and into others – the kind that usually appeared in every world, be they natural or admin placed – would only further exacerbate that feeling once the initial wave of helplessness passed.

Right now, however, there was one thing and one thing alone that drew her attention. That caused her skin to crawl at its very sight, though she did not yet entirely know why.

And it filled her entire vision like a looming titan, still a good distance away but a vast and unignorable dark, mechanical blotch on the hellish sands around, nonetheless.

False stared at the giant, rusting mechanical hand, half-submerged in the yellow surface, reaching for the heavens, fingers outstretched in an unmoving, statue-like impression of life. A moment frozen in time and yet telling of a long spanning, lost history that was best left unknown.

And though it lacked eyes with which to stare out at her, False knew it saw her too.

“Oh… Crap.”

----

Ages ago, I had an idea. An idea that featured the MCYTverse suffering a massive metaphysical event that severs/destabilizes connections between most worlds, energetic events befalling the worlds closest to the epicenter.

In this AU, the Hermits’ world would be one of the closest, causing it to be scrambled and the Hermits to be scattered to the winds, thrown to the great beyond and spat out elsewhere, washing up across the multiverse, alone where they don’t belong. Some would arrive in worlds with friends, some in worlds with faces familiar to you or me but lesser known to them, and some in worlds long forgotten.

The ways between worlds would be unstable, making hopping through a portal to reunite with friends near-impossible.This would be a challenge to be tackled alone. And with such diverse situations - and crossover potential - each Hermit would have their own difficulties.

At the time, I didn’t go ahead with the AU because I was told someone else was already planning an near-identical AU, but I've seen little signs of it since, and have concluded that there’s also no reason two AUs with similar premises can’t coexist anyway.

So while I don’t know if i’ll carry on from this, I had a fic snippet idea I wanted to get out for this Hermitverse AU, so feel free to let me know what you think, and if I got False’s “voice” right. Also, I haven’t stated the world she’s ended up in, but I feel like it’s a relatively easy guess contextually, and I may add it to the tags once someone picks up on it. :P

Enjoy!

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitcraft au #hermitverse au #falsesymmetry #ijevin #stressmonster101 #geminitay

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